Attention Addiction
by MidnightManic
Summary: A day at the end of a rogue. A contemplation of herself and her perpetual flirtation with complete self-destruction. A series based on a slightly different take of a highly unstable Rogue. Slight RogueXRemy. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1: Remedy

**Summary:** A day at the end of a rogue. A contemplation of herself and all she does. It's a series of short stories based on a slightly different take of the Rogue. Rated M for drugs, alcohol, sex, and suicidal tendencies. Slight Romy. "Because it was all for the attention."

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I is but a poor Peep.

On With the Show!!!!

**Attention Addiction**

Chapter 1

It starts in the morning.

The covers are tangled around my body. My boxers are twisted and riding up places they shouldn't. My tank-top's half way up my torso. I wake up feeling like the devil is chasing me. Funny thing is, sometimes he is. Those little demons inside my head bitch and moan so much at night, attacking me with their persona that I don't realize I'm stuck in my own head dreaming. Its okay on some nights; they at least have the courtesy of waking me up from their own nightmares. If not their nightmares, mine.

I have a hangover again. It must have been from all those shots I was taking in my room last night. I've realized that Jack is my only friend at times. He's the only one who gets me through the night's crash. The combination of those shots and those voices however weren't doing too well together this morning. My head's pounding and I feel sick. I can't vomit. There's nothing there to vomit besides all of the alcohol I consumed last night. I don't remember the last time I ate, or the last time I felt the need to eat.

It's dawn right now. I see the horrible sun creeping up over the stone cold hedge of the Mansion's barriers. I hear those birds whining again. As I step outside I comprehend the biting cold of New York's fall weather. I'm only wearing a tank top and rolled up boxers. I can't feel the cold, however. It's so hot outside. I'm sweating and panting. Hyperventilating.

I feel shaky. My head's closing in on me and the world is getting so small. My arms are trembling and my feet are numb. I'm cold and sweaty and itchy. It isn't from the cold though. I know what it's from.

I reveal to the world the tiny baggie of white powder from behind my back, a beat-up playing card I got from some guy in the Mansion, a razor blade, and the casing to a pen. I sit on my balcony's cold cement Indian style and ready myself.

I begin my daily process: I pour a small amount of the white powder on to one card, measuring it out almost to the grain. I take the razor blade and line the powder up in a nearly perfect straight line. I smile and hum to myself, taking the pen casing in one hand and using my other to plug up one nostril.

One thing the danger room has been good for is building my lung capacity. I take the line in one straight snort and revel in the feeling of the burning sensation of the white particles invading my sinuses. My eyes water slightly, but they always do that for a few seconds after. My vision clears and I breathe deeper, clearing any remaining powder in my nostrils. I lie back on the cold cement and give up my gaze up to the light sky.

I wait for the numbing sensation that started in my head to travel down the length of my body. I can feel an anesthetized shiver run down my spine and my head becomes light and fuzzy, but active and simulated. I wanted to get up and sprint somewhere, to get up off this balcony, to go on to the roof and try flying. I want to do anything.

But I lie still and gaze at the morning sky. I don't blink. The clear morning was moving- or was I? I floated. Did I actually? I don't know. I can never tell. The next thing I realize is I'm standing up. This euphoria, this high that I'm on… I feel blurred together, like I could just evaporate into the breeze at will and twirl around in circles.

It's not the first time I've done it. God no. Today's just a normal day. I took a little more coke than usual today, but it's a normal morning routine. No matter what I do now, I won't feel or care about a thing. All of the voices in my head will still talk, but I won't care. They'll be muted and so quiet that if I care or imagine long enough, I can make a little tune inside my head with their whispers. But then, I'll sing it in the middle of class, and everyone will think I'm crazier. We can't have that now, can we? That would only draw more attention to me.

I lie on my bed for a while. I don't realize how much time has passed since I snorted. All I know is the feeling of apathy and intoxication.

Kitty comes in my room. I just stare at her. Who is she again?

"You haven't woken up for school yet?!" I've woken up, but just not for school. I don't say anything to her. I don't feel like moving my lips. I feel like laughing. So I do.

"What's your problem?"

If she only knew.

I get up. Somehow I make it downstairs fully dressed and make-upped. I have my usual "scowl" on. It's not actually a scowl as many of the inhabitants like to think; I consider it my high face. It's funny; everyone always whispers I'm not a morning person. Well I'm not- when I'm on a withdrawal. When I'm high, I just don't care. So on either day, I won't speak to anyone.

I don't speak to anyone as I make my way to the coffee maker. I pour myself the last (and reserved) cup of black coffee. And down the whole thing. I feel eyes on me, specifically those of Logan, Kurt, and Kitty. Do I care?

No. Not in the least. Let them stare. I do this every morning. No sugar, no cream (because they make the hang-over worse). Straight black coffee not only kills the hangover, but kisses my coke high with more caffeine. I will say that normally, I do tend to enjoy and savor my coffee a little more; today's circumstances call for dire measures. I still felt the low hum of the hangover and I knew I needed to look like I was awake.

Kitty asked me something. If I was feeling okay, I think.

"Yeah, Ah'm jus fine," I waved her away.

"You look kinda tired."

"Late night."

I saw the look Logan gave me. He sniffed. He was trying to see if I was lying. I wasn't lying. I just wasn't telling the whole truth. The speed I got last night gave me a bad trip. I had an anxiety attack a couple of hours after I snorted, so I decided to take shots and smoke outside to ease my discomfort. It wasn't the smartest thing in the world, but I've done worse.

Logan couldn't have caught me on anything. I hadn't smoked since last night; with him smoking on his cigar all the fucking time outside anyways, I could just say the outside smell got on me. I know exactly when he smokes during the day; Psyche Logan often craves during certain times of the day- and I'm always ready to oblige.

"Do you vant something before ve leave?" Kurt asks me.

"Nah, Ah'm alright."

The beauty of cocaine is that it suppresses hunger. I don't remember the last time I've eaten. I don't remember the last time I've been hungry. All I need to survive now is a cup of coffee in the morning, a couple of bathroom breaks for water during school, some ciggs, and alcohol. I don't care how much weight I've lost; I don't care how it's getting harder and harder to make up excuses not to go to dinner; I don't care how it's partially hard to go to sleep because of the lack of food in my stomach. All of these primal needs can be thrown out the window with a smoke or a snort.

I don't remember how I got to school. For all I care, which I don't, I could have flew or something. There are some fuzzy memories with Kitty in it, but only of her flipping her hair and smacking her gum. I think I had some kind of conversation with Kurt, because I can still hear his voice repeating, "You look kind of pale, _mein schwester_." If my response made any sense to the outside world, it would have been "Ah'm fine, Ah swear. Now jeez, stop badgerin' meh."

It was the beginning of my day. I had six periods to go. I'm standing in front of the school.

Have you ever had a moment where what you see just doesn't feel right? Like you are watching your body mechanically move from the inside of your head? I'm starting to black out into my own head again. By black out I mean, the psyches are trying to drag me into my own head and lock me away. It's not so fun. I had it happen once and I found myself about to stab Logan with a kitchen knife. I think Psyche Sabertooth was mad because I didn't grow nails, thus the kitchen knife. I stopped before he noticed though.

I feel myself drowning in some black abyss of memories. A flash of something works its way into my head. I pull myself out and back into my body. By the time I do, I'm sitting in first period with all my crap on my desk.

This is the beginning of a bad trip.

I don't normally have bad trips. I'm the type to be lost in a euphoric trip, a nice, floating trip. I only have a bad trip when the psyches get involved. When all of them are ganged up on me, they get me a little paranoid and anxious. They have a tendency to give me little "presents." They're self-explosive presents. They tend to send their memories to me and those memories blow up in my face. It's like having a nightmare during the day. A daymare, if you will. It feels like the real thing- and it scares the shit out of me. I don't like their presents.

So here I am. In first period. I feel a little spout of anxiety sent my way. Being on coke and receiving an anxiety attack is like taking two Adderalls when you don't have ADD. You become paranoid and anxious and sweaty and hyperactive. You focus on everything in front of you and you swear you see shadow people. You feel like jumping out of your skin and screaming and ripping your hair out. You feel like you're positively dying.

I'm positively dying. My hands were shaking and I can't help but keep a locked gaze on the clock. I only see it move every five minutes. It's on the five one second, and then it switches to 10, then to 15. Out of my peripheral, I see the shadows of people seizuring and melding together. Something's not right here.

Someone shakes me. It's Kitty. The bells rang. Why am I not leaving?

Presently, I don't know. I don't remember the bell ringing. So I leave.

"Are you alright?"

"Yea, jus kinda dazed."

I'm perfectly fine. Why, yes in fact, I do feel a little dazed. But it's okay. That means its working.

I see the hoards and hoards of idiots rush past me. I'm at a nice gait. They point and stare and whisper. I jump out at them, whispering nonsense, and giving them the finger. They all think I'm a Satanist anyways and they know I'm a mutant; why not scare them with the southern voodoo? Under normal, sober circumstances, I wouldn't consider giving them the time. Today, I'm feeling outspoken. When one is high, this is not often a good thing.

In dealing with high people you have three different types. You have the normal one, the one who doesn't say anything. They're the type that can get away with anything. They can always blame their silence on sadness, thinking, or just being tired. They're the lucky ones.

Then you have the lively ones. The ones who, at a social gather of some sort like school or parties, they are the life of it. They're acting more strange than usual. These druggies can also somewhat get away with murder as well. "I'm hyper!" they can usually say, or "I'm happy!"

Then you have me. When I'm high and out there and social, it's scary. I supposedly get this maniac glint in my eyes. I'm eviler than normal. I'm more daring. I get cocky, annoying, and fanatical. I laugh in the middle of class; I joke with people I'd never even talk to; I'm rude; frankly, I give myself a lot more attention that I'd ever need.

So here I am in my high and soaring glory, smirking at the world, jumping at the swarm of maggots who stare. Maybe it isn't such a good idea to be high and go to school. Or, not in my case, anyways. Teachers passing in the hall gave me an eye. I gave them the finger and a laugh. Kitty and Kurt passed by and tried to stop me.

"Rogue, like, what's wrong with you today?"

"Ja, you're being really out there…"

And my reply?

"Sorrah kiddies, but Ah've got a joint in mah bra and it's about time to go an' use it." I struggled out of their grip and half stumbled my way through the halls towards the bathroom.

If the Kitty/Kurt combo inside my head was begging me to go to my next class, I can only imagine the reactions of the real Kitty and Kurt had I stayed long enough for their reactions. I don't mean to get these reactions; it just kind of oozed out of my mouth before I could screen it.

Plus, the anxiety attack I was suffering through needed something bad to ease the seizure. Drinking my coffee too fast gave me a head-on collision of caffeine. I really did need to smoke some of it out. No big, though. The only downfall of smoking right now is the hunger factor; I might feel hungry during class. Sacrifices, I suppose.

I took a stroll down the hall, as to avoid the psyches' urge to go to class. I strolled through the late bell (gasp!) and sauntered in the girls (or was it boys?) bathroom. I glared at a girl who rushed out of a stall. Poor girl, afraid of being late to class; if only I had the heart to tell her it didn't matter. Or that she had her Gucci thong hanging over her jeans. Oh well. The girl started washing her hands on the outer sink of three; I decided in my high wonder that I wanted to make friends. I hopped on the sink right next to her, leaning against the faucet and mirror. It was a little damp, but fuck it. Shit dries. I leaned on the mirror and just smiled at her as she lathered. It wasn't a genuine, Let's-Be-Friends smile; it was an I'm-Going-To-Eat-You smile. It was a good smile, really. I grinned my best grin and widened my eyes slightly- you know, like a platter of desserts in shoved in front of you face. She wasn't a good dessert, however. She looked at me like I was a lesbian about to rape her. I would hardly; preps aren't my type.

"What?" She asked defensively. I smiled wider.

"Your thong's hanging out, baby cakes." I internally rolled my eyes. How Todd's mannerisms manifested without me hearing his psyche is beyond me. The girl was dismayed.

"Freak," she spat at me. Well, she obviously recognized me as the "mutie freak." She grabbed some paper towels and stalked out of the bathroom somewhat calmly.

"I'm a freak for you, baby!" I shouted out as the door swung closed. I laughed hysterically. Some people…

I breathed a sigh of relief. Alone at last. I pulled out the poorly rolled joint. I swear, that's the last time I entertain a psyche's idea on how to roll a joint. I pulled out the lighter from my boots. Boots, I've realized through many drug adventures through the Mansion, are very handy for hiding stuff in. I put the joint in my mouth and lit it. Oh such sweet, weedy taste. Only few things are better than the smell of weed. Personally, I prefer the smell in a concert or on my balcony; bathroom flavored weed isn't so sweet. Beggars can't be choosers. Weed is weed and I love it.

I sat on the sink and inhaled; the scratchy feeling down my throat was only so much of a hindrance; it couldn't stop me from enjoying the calming effects. A few hits of my joint and I was good to go. My mind was cleared, my body was relaxed. The psyches weren't going haywire, or if they were, I just couldn't feel anything because my head was too fuzzy. I finished the joint and washed the end down the drain. I hopped off the sink and did a 180. I saluted the girl in the mirror and marched down to the class I was supposed to be in. I thought better of it, and just went to my locker. I thought the bell was supposed to ring, so I just stayed.

It rang sometime later; I was too busy laughing at some shit to care. I started caring when I felt someone tap my arm. Kitty. She was an angry kitty. I smiled.

"Rogue! What's your problem! You're in school!"

"Yea, so?"

"How stupid could you be?!"

"Actually, this was one of the smarter choices Ah made."

"Compared to what?!"

I laughed. "Ah've done worse."

To put it lightly, she was horrified.

I don't remember most of the classes I went through. Somehow I made it through lunch, strung out and drunk on panda glory. I saw Kurt and Kitty trying to get my attention through my peripheral. Eh, another day. I had a mission today. I was out of drugs and I needed some for tonight. Tonight was party night. Tonight, I was going to get slammed. But first, I needed some supplies.

I went to my normal tree, the one I sit behind every lunch. When I was still a faithful X-Man, I would listen to music, read and sulk, like a normal angsty teenager. But now I'm a big girl. I sit behind the tree and smoke. It gets rid of the hunger produced by the weed and not eating in a couple of days. Today, my tree was the meeting spot of my drug dealer.

I waited briefly. I saw my dealer come from behind the fence's trees and meet at mine. He came close and gave me a hug. It was welcomingly received.

"How you holdin' up, Rogue?' Lance asked.

"Oh, ya know, voices still bothering meh. The coke ya gave me last week worked and the weed was beautiful. Ah'm still riding on both of them."

Lance smiled smugly. "I can tell."

"So. What do ya got today?"

"Well, I got a couple of wet ones, some cocaine, and an eight ball some guy didn't pick up."

I moaned. How perfect. "So tempting…" I leaned against the tree and banged my head. I only had so much money.

"How bout I make you a deal?" He looked devilish.

"Keep it comin', sugah," I coaxed, motioning him closer. I sensed some people coming by.

"Take the wet ones off my hands." He spoke quietly.

"No problem there." I purred, smiling to his strong face. I handed him his usual amount. He flipped out a small baggie with three specially made, dipped joints in it. I took them out of the baggie. Lance took them out of my hand, and stuffed them in my bra himself.

"Looks like someone remembers mah hidin' spot." I swear, he smirked like Pietro.

"I have a feeling you're partying tonight," he mused.

"Got it in one."

"You need party drugs."

"Damn skippy Ah do." My lips curled in a hungry smile. "What's ya offer?"

"I'll give you the eight ball, for a small, quick price…" he whispered in my ear, playing with a lock of my hair. I smirked at his offer. Oh, that Lance.

"You know mah rules, sugah."

"You still riding high?"

"Of course."

"Good."

I felt his hands on my hips, squaring me with him. He drew into me, pinning me against the tree from the leering eyes of others, and kissed my neck, nipping at it. I could already feel him through his jeans. One hand reached around me and groped my ass, drawing me closer to him. The other hand touched the skin on my stomach and slowly reached up. His lips kissed the way up my neck and finally reached my lips. I know there's going to be red marks where he nibbled. He kissed me sloppily; he bit my lip and tugged at it to open my mouth more, squeezing me to comply. Who was I to deny? He thrust his tongue in my mouth and I half-assed him, hardly doing anything as he touched me.

His hand reached up my stomach and met my bra. He stroked there before plunging up and grabbing my chest and fondling it. I could barely register his hands were cold. I felt his other hand reach in front of my skirt and start to lift it up. His warm hand stroked the inside of my thighs, then began petting me through the little thong I had on. I felt little tingles where he touched. I could feel his fingers move my thong and circle around my entrance.

"Please, Rogue?" he begged, moving his fingers faster around my clit. Stupid asshole. He knows what that does to me.

"Lance," I began warningly.

The bell rang.

That's right. I'm still in school. In broad fucking daylight and I'm getting sexed up by a drug dealer who's not even supposed to be in a fucking mile radius of this shit-hole school. I'm a genius.

He got off of me. "You're a tease," he grumbled.

"Not a tease," I purred. I slid my hand in his jean pocket and pulled out my reward, making sure to rub against his obvious member. "Ah'm just an addict." I leaned up and kissed him before walking away.

I laugh as I put the speed in my bra. What? Did you actually think I would go that far for drugs? Well. I can't blame you. I probably would if I was broke and really needed a fix. Or if it was anyone else but Lance. I couldn't do it with Lance. Not that I wouldn't want to, but last time I almost did, Kitty erupted from my drug fog and about killed me. So forgive me and my moral-less morals; it doesn't matter if it's a friend or not, I'd still hit it and quit it for drugs.

I walked into the crowded hallways. People stared as I flipped them off. I knew I looked like sex. After a scene like that, who doesn't? But the weed makes you not care. It makes you float. It makes you laugh. So I was doing all three. I walked up to my locker, I think. Kitty again. I swear, she's my school protector. If I'm not where she is, she flips out. And I think, if in my fog I am not mistaken, she was flipping out.

"You look like you just had crazy sex! What have you been doing?!" She reached up and fixed my hair, patting it down and combing it through. I laughed.

"All in a day's work? Fooling you alllll…" I made squiggles with my hands. "Maybe I can really touch, maybe I have mad sex all the time!" I laughed. It wasn't the total truth… the last part was a lie. I don't go having sex all the time. Ah, weed and coke makes things so funny.

"Rogue!"

"Wha?"

She sighed. "I'll see you after school."

By after school, did she mean at the Mansion? Because that's where I think I'm at.

I'm outside. I am no longer in the bathroom smoking that wet joint. I finished it and I'm outside, in a forest I think by the Mansion. Correction. I am at the Mansion. I can clearly see my room from here. But do I really want to go?

Too late! I think Kurt might have taken over and ported me to my room. Or I walked. That too.

I'm on my bed, lying face up, about to fall off the bed. But do I care? Noo… The hallucinations my joint gave me are too pretty to care. The colors swirling above my head are fantastical. I think Jubilee may be playing with fireworks again, that's how magical they are. They're like little butterflies, or fireflies, or something. They're dancing and I'm smiling.

The shadows are swirling above my head. They're jumping out at me, clawing and clamping and biting. Shadow people. They're all looking at me. Tell them to stop looking at me. I want none of them, none of their attention. I don't need it. I'm fine on my own. All I need are these magical colors that are floating like fireflies about to die. Because each little color is me. I'm just floating around, minding my own business.

The shadows aren't leaving me alone. They're fucking eating my colored friends. And they see me. And they know I have no friends, nothing to rely on, nothing to stop them from eating me.

They all join as one monster shadow and envelope me in their darkness.

I think this is the part in my hallucinations where the psyches drag me in and lock me in my memories. Today, I am taken to the old me. The old me that sat behind my tree and read lonely, angsty books like a lonely, angsty girl should. My head hurt from the psyches. The aspirin I took in the morning had no effect. It stopped having an effect months ago, but if I upped the dosage any more, I might classify as overdosing. I couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate. The Prof knew and involved Dr. McCoy. Logan knew, Ororo knew. The adults knew. Kitty and Kurt knew. I think Jean knew, only because she "cared" like that. Everyone knew, but nobody really knew. Nobody could really do anything.

I sat behind my tree. I put my head down. They were yelling and screaming and talking and bouncing off the fucking walls.

I felt someone come up next to me and sit. I remember thinking if it was Kitty or Kurt I would bash their heads in. They had already asked me enough questions today to reach their quota for the week. But it wasn't them.

It was Lance. I smiled weakly at him. We hadn't talked in a while, mainly because of the Kitty relationship. But we were close friends, going through the same stuff as kids and shit. His powers gave him headaches too; well, that is, until he started mastering them. He understood, to a certain extent.

"Headache?"

"Yeah. Nothin's workin' anymore."

"They give you anything?"

"Besides a fucking bottle of aspirin? Fuck no."

"Have you tried anything else?"

"Tried vicodin once. Didn't work. Anti-anxiety. Sleepin' pills only made the nightmares come back. Ain't nothin' out there that can help me anymore."

"Have you tried herbal?"

"Wha?"

It was a glorious moment when I was handed my first joint. I was skeptical, making sure nobody was taking pictures of me for blackmail. But it was Lance. He wouldn't do that.

"It helped me until I controlled my powers. Maybe it'll help you."

And forever praise the day I took my first high. I realized more high than when I was sober.

I realized I was alone. That nobody really listened or paid attention. So thus, whatever I did, wouldn't be noticed. I was unnoticeable, untouchable, uncared for. Nobody could love an untouchable. Nobody could care for one who couldn't be cared for.

And thus my first step in committing murder under the eyes of my friends. Nobody could tell the difference of when I was stoned or quiet. I'll admit I was a little dazed the first couple of times. Lance and I had some good laughs at my antics when I was prodded. We had a little quasi-relationship. I became more alive.

Until it slowly stopped working.

But in the world of drugs, you can always find something new. And I did. I started cocaine and speed. I've done LSD, prescription, pretty much anything I can get my hands on. And all of them have worked beautifully.

And now it's pretty beautiful. My minds faded back into wandering my walls of pretty colors. I hear music coming from some place in the room. I look up and see Kitty looming over my face. I couldn't understand her even if I wanted to. But she sang a nice song. I hummed it along with her, and almost called her back into the room from her angry bounce to sing some more.

But I remembered I'm alone, so it wouldn't matter.

I'm alone in my room as I pass out from the pretty colors. I'm alone in my head as a little girl dances with the butterflies. The shadows are singing for her as she hums a little song.

I've decided I'll sit here and drink the spirits in. I'll sit and watch the little girl, and hope she gets attention one day, so she won't turn out like me.

* * *

**Author's Note: **So how was that? A slightly different way of writing for me after the last few stories. I've had this story plan and shitting out of my brain since before I finished "A Lovely Absorber." I wanted to play off a different part of Rogue, but this kinda seems stereotypical… hopefully, we'll get to the different part of Rogue in later chapters. This is part one of four of Rogue's journey of… what? Well, let's read on and find out! I have the next chapter already planned out, I just, as always, need to type it. 

This part of Rogue plays off not her "I need to get away from life because I'm so angsty" drug addiction. Instead, she wants to shut up the voices because nothing else is helping and nobody realizes it. She, in her mind, knows she can get away with murder through drugs because it's no different than how she is anyways. So what if certain people see changes? They can't stop her from shutting up the voices. The awesome feeling of not caring about anything is just a bonus. This is the beginning of the claim that she wasn't listened to, thus she won't listen to anyone. The "lack of attention" in her mind is enough to let herself fall into drugs. We all obviously see how much people care for her.

But um. The story. Yea. I had written most of it on a trip to Orlando- Go Disneyworld!!!!- And stopped at the beginning of the drug deal part. I sat down today to finish it and was like "How can I shock EVERYONE? I know! Put a quasi-sex scene between Lance and Rogue to depict Rogue's desperation for attention!!!" Heh, just kidding about the desperation part. But I entertained putting a full on sex scene in the middle of the school campus. And I remembered I must save some for later. (Hint: Foreshadowing?). Thus, the spiciness that ensued today maintained the M rating.

So yea, look for the second chapter hopefully within one month from now! Read it and weep! It should be fun. Hint: Jack is everyone's best friend.

Review!!!

MidniteAngelGoth


	2. Chapter 2: Distraction

**Summary:** A day at the end of a rogue. A contemplation of herself and all she does. It's a series of short stories based on a slightly different take of the Rogue. Rated M for drugs, alcohol, sex, and suicidal tendencies. Slight Romy. "Because it was all for the attention."

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I is but a poor Peep.

On With the Show!!!!

**Attention Addiction**

Chapter 2: Distraction

I'm just too fucking smart for my own good sometimes. I mean, I wake up, do drugs, go to school occasionally, do drugs, come home, do more drugs, and crash. I leave no time whatsoever for eating or for being disturbed by other people or for being disturbed by other people who have noticed I have neither eaten nor been disturbed.

So, what I like to call a little surprise surprised me today.

And woke me the fuck up.

It was Ororo. Requesting that I rejoin them at dinner. In five minutes.

Now, I am not a happy person when I am woken up from a rather trippy dream involving badgers, mushrooms, and snakes (theme song included). I am especially not happy when I am being rushed into something I don't want to do. Note however, I do not look pleasant with make up smeared all over my face. Ororo was gracious enough to point that out to me.

And also point out that "Rogue, you are looking quite pale, are you feeling ill?"

Well, golly gee dang. Crashing hard off of coke and wet joints does tend to make me feel a little, well, shitty if I am not given the opportune to smoke or sleep it off. How _did_ she know I was feeling ill?

"It's nothin', just a long day at school. Ya know how they are."

"Are they giving you trouble, child?"

"Nah, not directly. Ah deal though, don't ya worry." Because I do deal. With the middle finger and drug deals. And I can pull the sympathy card whenever I want with my cute little southern drawl.

She looked suspicious. I can't blame her. With a charge like me, even I would be suspicious of myself. Hah. I am suspicious of myself. Who knows when those psyches of mine are going to turn on me.

Ororo left with a final word of "Be at dinner, or who knows what Logan might do to you?"

Ah, that little scare. Logan's infamous DR simulations. Well, I can honestly say I've had worse. Try being beaten alive in your mind, not only by your psyches, but by their memories. Logan's runs are a dream come true compared to some of his grisly memories. Besides, he can do more damage to me by making me absorb his memories than by throwing me to physical exhaustion by running. The institute's threats don't amount to nothing anymore.

But I'm still a _good_ girl at heart, so what did I do? I got my ass up and obeyed. Damn the man.

I headed down to dinner after I smeared more make up on my face and made myself look somewhat presentable. However that "scowl" was present, or my "I'm on a withdrawal so shut-the-fuck-up" face. I walked down the hall and faced the downward tread of the stairs. And it began.

Maybe I am having too many drugs at one time. Maybe I'm going to kill myself with all of this. Maybe I don't care. But as for now, I suppose I should care. After all, the stairs shouldn't be waving in front of me. The shadow people should have been gone by now or at least they shouldn't have turned into shadow demons.

How could I have possibly made it downstairs? They were fucking _moving_ like a fun house at a carnival. I walked as slow as hell, quietly, because if I moved any louder, they would have _heard _me. I would have been minced ass meats. I would have been-

Door. Yes. Door. In my face. How do I work that again? I don't know. There is a door in front of my face and I can't move. I'm having an anxiety attack. The world is shrinking and being 4-D or some shit like that. I feel heavy and muted. I touch the door, it swings open. I see faces. Many faces.

The professor, he's saying something, motioning for me to sit. Alright, that sounds like a good plan. Sitting. Yes. Where?

_The empty seat, you know- the one that's not occupied? _Someone was being sarcastic, and it wasn't welcomed. I took the seat next to some brown haired chick and Kitty. I sat quietly. Maybe if I didn't make any noise, they wouldn't hear me either. Or maybe they would make enough noise as to not hear me at all.

Because that's who I am. The silent but deadly one. Hah, finally, a time where I can use that and use it successfully. Have you ever noticed why I'm so quiet all the time? Well, if I'm quiet and not giggly, it's because I'm having a panic attack, a withdrawal, so to say. If you touch me, I flip out. I will go nuts on you. It's because I've taken too many drugs in a short amount of time and I'm paying for it. It's not so bad, I suppose; most of the time, my psyches realize I'm in no predicament to talk, and try to take over with their mindless babble and so forth. Thus, I can always get away with, "Ah'm nawt feelin' really good right now, can I beh excused, please?" One little glimpse in my head (because I don't believe the Prof's always faithful to his rule, and I _know_ Jeanie isn't so perfect after all) and they won't even be able to find me in my own head because of those damn voices.

They all sat around me cheerfully and happily passed the dishes around, like a good little Who family should. If they started singing, I wouldn't have been surprised. When the bowls came around, I served myself very, how should I put it, daintily. Because, as an anorexic druggie, I can't afford to take a step back in my progress, now can I?

"Jeez, you could eat more y'know, considering you, like, didn't have lunch today." Aw, little Kitty was annoyed by my antics today.

Well, if that didn't catch some fucking attention. I practically _heard_ the heads of the adults swiveling in my direction. Logan's made the most noise, considering every time he turns some bone in his body cracks. I could feel the questions raising in their heads. I turned to her, which luckily was in the same direction as the gapping adults and said, "Them voices are givin' meh a headache, including yar's, Miss I-Don't-Eat-Meat, so Ah dun wanna aggravate them too much, alraight?"

How I planned to de-aggravate them by not eating, I don't know. I hope that sufficed in shutting them up though.

As for the little world in my head. Well. It was turning. Not as in the stupid soap opera "As the World Turns," as in my vision was turning. I felt wobbly. But I must bear on, even as the voices are screaming at me for being locked up in my mind prison of drugs for so long. Even as the shadow people are starting to gnaw away at my teammates. Even as the proximity of people was too close to my liking.

It sort of felt like the tea cups you twirl around in at fairs. Like you're looking for someone, and they twirl closer to you, and twirl farther away. It was quite nauseating. But I could feel the peoples' arms around me moving, their legs kicking out from underneath the table. They seemed to get close, but never touch me. Their limbs were like children: "Can't do anything, I'm not touching you!"

Oh. But they did touch me.

The thing I don't like about the New (I think they're new; I was high when we were introduced) Recruits is that they'er loud, obnoxious, immature teenagers. The guys try to act too cool for their age, and the girls are sluts. Well, maybe not sluts. They're too young to be sluts. They're the type to giggle madly when they're given attention from their male counterparts, but "No, stop it!" (Insert giggle here.) They're _those_ type of girls.

And I think I had one sitting next to me. She was sitting facing the guy next to her. I didn't hear the whole conversation, but it ended in something like, "No, Bobby, give it back!" Oh, he gave it back.

Whatever it was, she leaned back in rebound, and hit me.

Let me remind you: If you touch me, I flip out.

I was attacked by a rush of tingles up my arm; that meant the psyches were waiting for that absorption and was getting antsy. The shove into me surprised me; I dropped my fork on my plate, which made that loud, dramatic silverware sound. I jumped up from my chair and leaned closer to Kitty, holding my arm where she touched and slightly, just slightly started hyperventilating. "Don't _TOUCH_ meh!" I screeched.

More attention to me. The room went quiet. All eyes were on me. The girl, I think it was the princess one, looked terrified out of her mind. Good, let that remind her to believe the rumors that floated about me in the school. I _am_ scary. But out of the fifteen or so people that were there, I felt one gaze bore into me specifically.

He sat across from me and gazed at me coolly; stupid me glared back at him. The moment he locked my gaze, I knew what he was doing; on a normal day, it would have probably worked, his empathy. Today, he was blocked out before even I realized it. But the bugger kept pushing the blocks; his eyes glowed slightly angrily as he couldn't get in my emotions now.

"Stop it," I hissed at him lowly. He quirked his eyebrow at me, still regarding me coolly, yet angrily. Stupid bastard

was going to harass me about this later.

"Rogue?" Poor professor probably hasn't had a peaceful meal in years. I just don't help with things, at all, do I? I looked back at him, still hyperventilating.

"Could Ah be excused, please?" My voice was raspy and certainly sounded out of breath. Convincing, I know. He looked torn between saying yes, and saying no. I can't blame him; I hadn't been with the whole group for a while and I certainly hadn't eaten in a while.

"Yes, you may."

Praise to the professor who acknowledges all touch-fearing mutants. I could feel Logan's eyes on me and could feel Ororo's objections, especially since she worked so hard to get me down here. But fuck it, I wasn't going to eat, I wasn't going to chat; I was just wasting oxygen by being there.

I all but ran out of the room and shut the door. I wobbled my way up the stairs, making sure nobody saw me as I collapsed on the stairs for a few seconds. Walking while dizzy makes things a _little_ complicated. I walked into my room.

And promptly passed out on my bed.

For a couple of hours.

Which, actually, I'm grateful for. Had I not taken that drug induced nap, I would have been a very grumpy girl when I left to go partying. Actually, what I'm really grateful for was for waking up. I'm known to sleep off drugs for days at a time. So, my thanks to Kitty, for coming in and asking if I wanted to watch a movie with the entire Institute on this wonderful Friday night. I was feeling rather nice, calm, and wide-fucking awake. My response?

"Mah head's still kinda hurtin'. They're still all riled up from the whole dinner incident."

"They, like, reacted that bad to it?"

I shook my head pitifully, just for effect. "Ya have no idea."

She left after offering some painkillers. I told her I already had some and was planning to take it soon. I can't blame the suspicious look she gave me. I give too little credit to Kitty; she's way to smart for her own good. She understood my method of painkilling, and needless to say didn't approve.

I stayed in bed a few minutes after she left, trying to decide the best course of action. Dress, speed, leave. It was almost 10:00. By the time I get ready, snort some lines, it should be almost 11? All partiers leave for the clubs at around 11. It should be fun tonight.

I took my shower, singing my little tune that I had earlier in school. It was a happy little diddly. A hopeful one, if you will. Because I was hoping I could get everything I wanted tonight. I walked out of the shower area in just my towel; I hadn't decided what I wanted to wear yet. It wasn't a long walk to my room from the shower.

But I'm a lucky girl. Whenever I'm in just a towel, someone I don't want to see has to be there.

Someone whistled at me. I held my towel steady and steadily held up my middle finger as well. I knew who it was.

"Well, well, well. What is d' Rogue up t' now?"

"None of ya business, Swamp Rat."

"Y' in a towel. It is m' business."

I slammed the door before he could say any more lewd comments to me.

News flash: I am a normal girl- I do want to look sexy and borderline sleezy when I go out. Thus my current predicament. It's freezing cold outside. That's my only mode of transportation. And I want to dress like a slut. Oh, sacrifices.

I pulled out a skirt. Short. Black. If I bend over, my white, pearly ass nearly hangs out. Perfect skirt for a club slut. I shimmy into a lacy thong and fishnets (fishnets- like insta-goth- but better!). I put on my little skirt and shove on some combat boots. I'm walking around in my bottom half apparel, topless, and trying to find a shirt. Man, I really hope Kurt doesn't port in here right now.

Even I wouldn't wish that kind of sibling death on him.

I grope through my closet. Surprisingly, for a goth who covers up all the time, I have a pretty impressive set of slutty shirts. Half of them are stolen, but hey, a druggie just isn't made out of money. I close my eyes. And point.

I choose you, Pikachu!

Or corset. Whatever.

It's black (duh). It's corset-y (duh). It's a mini-mini tank top corset. In other words, it stops before my bellybutton. The laced up part of the corset isn't backed with cloth. It's strung shut and see-through. In other words, you can see boob-flesh. And it makes my boobs pop out a little more than usual. So slutty. So beautiful. Thank god my alcoholism hasn't made me gain weight yet, or else I wouldn't be able to pull this off. Or my belly-ring. That's right people, I said it. I am like a gothic Barbie- I have a belly ring.

Funny story actually. I had always been scared of one. Until one day, when I was smashed. I was absolutely infactuated with my belly-button (it's quite cute, actually) and decided I was going to get it pierced. So I called Kitty over, and had her phase one into my stomach. Yay for me. The good thing is? Kitty didn't even realize I wasn't in the right state of mind. I can be so persuasive.

I slather on some make up. Black eyeshadow, burgundy lipstick. Because bright red just makes me look like a Christina Aguilera wannabe. I fix my hair and fix my clothes, making sure to stuff money and my fake ID into my corset. I grab a phone and phone a taxi. I'm not walking in the cold. And now for the fun.

I grab my speed from my bra drawer. I get my supplies. I snort the shit and lie back.

Oh, speed. I like it. It's adderall for the extreme ADD. It keeps me up all night. I do my duty. It is my ever faithful party drug that keeps me up until my alcohol covers up the crash for me. Speed and alcohol. Neutralizing I guess. Speed makes you awake. Alcohol makes you sleep. Taken in just the right amounts at just the right time gives such a good effect. It's my yin and yang, man. It's normal.

Why don't I just not take drugs, you ask? If I'm so intent on feeling normal.

Because the extremes felt before the neutralizing effect and after the neutralizing effect feel so damn blissful.

Like the extreme I'm baking now? Every little thing is so captivating. On regular ADD meds, you focus, right? Well speed does that and a bag of Doritos (spicy jalapeno style). It doesn't matter what it is. It will seem like it's moving and it won't be at the same time. And it won't be anywhere around you, and you'll still feel it, and you'll feel _good._ How trippy is that?

Another plus. I don't have to worry about eating.

So I feel good. I'm lying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling. The carpet is moving under me. It's like a thousand kinds of bugs or vibrators or fingers poking me and wiggling under me and caressing me. I get up and I see a shiny bug float by my window.

It takes me a minute to realize it's not a bug, but probably transportation to the club. Heh. Yea…

I'm surprised in my tripped out state I didn't kill myself climbing down my balcony. I landed with a soft thud of my combat boots.

And ran.

Why?

Because I'm paranoid and the wind rushing past me felt like water. Yea, that's how fucked up I am.

I laughed (out loud, I think) when the taxi driver saw me. I didn't look that bad. I didn't. I looked good. I'm in pretty good condition. I have strong legs, nice ass, and I don't muffin-top when I wear jeans. By muffin, I mean the fat-muffin look of when girls wear pants too tight and their fat rolls hang over their pants. That's a muffin top. I look pretty damn good. In a stripper way. In a handcuffs-and-whips-and-chains way.

He asked me where I was going. I told him a club. He asked which one. I said I didn't know. He asked how he was getting there. I told him to get there and then I'd tell him. I'm a little smart ass while on drugs.

So sometime later, I made it to the club. It took about 10 wrong turns and 10 extra bucks, but whatever. I got there. The speed was still going, but I could feel it fading. The problem with me is I'm tolerant towards everything thanks to Logan. But no big. I'd get something soon.

I walk up to the bouncer like I own the place. Because I do. They just don't know it yet. I pull out my ID from my bra, and give him a look. He stared back, not buying that I was twenty one. I narrowed my eyes. I commanded him to let me in. He did wordlessly.

Oh, yea, one thing I forgot to mention. Being on drugs makes my powers go a little haywire. Haywire, in a way, that means I can better control all those little powers in my head. I always get what I want when I'm on drugs.

And maybe some of you are thinking, my powers go haywire? What? It's like another power explosion! Sound familiar?

Explain anything to you? Well, my little power explosion some time ago wasn't because of teenage stress from betrayal, that's for fucking sure. I had taken coke and speed at the same time and discovered it was not smart. The psyches discovered it wasn't smart either, and discovered the rift in my sanity at the same time when I absorbed "Risty". And they decided to let themselves loose without consulting me.

Nuh-uh. Not cool.

So yes, that little freak out was drug related. Since then, I have since controlled my ass better and learned to block them out while I'm as high as a fucking satellite. It was a necessary action.

I walk into the club and down a set of stairs. I open up the curtain the blocked my entrance and smirked.

It was your typical alcoholic rave-like club. There was the music, there were the dancers, there was the bar, there was those guys who tried to pick up girls with date rape drugs and ridiculous dancing. All in good fun, you know?

I headed towards the bar area, catching a few guys suggestive smiles with returning winks and swaying hips. I sat at the bar, like a damsel in distress and caught the bartenders' attention.

"You 21?"

"Ah got in, didn't I?" He rolled his eyes. I knew exactly what he was thinking. 'Damn kids.'

"What's yer poison?"

I smiled. "Jack."

He came back a moment later with a square glass of Jack Daniels. I handed him the money, but he waved it away.

"It's already been paid for."

"Who?"

"Some guy in glasses." He shrugged.

I smirked and swallowed back a mouthful. He likes to pay for my drinks before I can. A little pre-game, so to speak. His way of teasing me. I take another gulp. I like to play games too. My games are fun for everyone, though. My games involve everyone.

Gulp after gulp I finish. And set the glass back down with a satisfied clunk. I wait a minute before I feel the muted cloud of alcohol slowly seep into my speed high. The colored lights swirl overhead and the body heat around me pulses with energy. My diluted psyches are becoming excited. I can feel them try to capture the energy with invisible pulls. They won't work, though. I've shut them off from any psychic link to the outside world for right now. My limbs are free floating and alive. They pound with the beat of the music.

Liquid confidence works its magic as I glide towards the dance floor. My hips lightly dance and sway. I would almost call it my cat call. I felt the eyes of spectators on my back half. I felt their eyes devour me. I called out to them. Not a huge telepathic pulse, just a fleeting thought in the mind of those men. I walked into the middle of the gyrating mob. I will be the star tonight. I am not afraid to be noticed.

I loll my head back and feel the music cradle me. My arms reach out above me and grab the radiance of the club. My hips are rolling around and swaying seductively. People around me watched as I sexed the music. They were scared and amazed.

I feel someone come up behind me and place his hands on my cloth covered hips. I back up into him, grinding into his lower half and letting my hands wander over his. His hands wander up my stomach and caress my skin in incensed ache. I smirk as I feel this guy's smooth, soft hands over my belly. I felt my psyches press their internal restraints, their death-filled psychic limbs yearning to grab some energy from this victim. Maybe I'll indulge them a little, just a little…

I feel his fingers reach lower into my skirt. His hands play lower and lower, his soft fingers squeezing me… I open the restraints a little, letting the psyches feed on his energy. The energy was slow streaming and I slowly turned off the dam after a moment. The man behind me slowed his grind. Even the little amount I stole from him weakened him. I internally shook my head. This was not my man.

The psyches shut up for awhile, debating on what to do with the newly given energy. Do them what they will; so long as they don't get in my way tonight.

I continued playing with the guy behind me, and caught the eyes of another mentally raping me at the bar. I licked my lips suggestively and winked at him. He left his drink at the bar half finished and came at me with unhidden lust. He came up in front of me and sandwiched me between the other. They both grinded against me and I didn't care. I rolled my head back and they both came at my neck. I held their heads in my hand, running my nails down their. They bit long trails down my neck and grasped at my body. The one behind me continued to suckle at my neck. The one in front of me grasped the lower end of my breasts. It was almost too much attention from them. And I could tell the guys wanted more. They smothered me with their bodies and I couldn't help but feel more than turned on. But I had a mission. I couldn't get that carried away yet.

I had enough of the first guy's energy, so I focused my attention on the new guy. His hands were bigger, but still just as soft. They grappled my ass, pulling me closer to him. He pressed his lower half closer to mine, inviting me to see how ridiculously turned on he was. He attacked my neck again, showering it with sappy kisses. He worked his way up, nearly capturing my lips with his own. No, my lips were not his tonight. I felt the psyches poke at him and I let them take their fill.

Their hands traveled all over my body, squeezing here and groping there. Their hands worked my skin and kneeded it with fury. They were fighting over me, seeing which one could hit it first. They could fight all they want. Neither would win. Their smooth touches were very much wanted against my skin. Feeling their hands over my body sliced through my senses and pleasured me in itself.

But if they really wanted more with me, one of them would have tried something more with me on the dance floor, sort of what Lance did at school. He would have taken me out already and fucked me against the back of the club. These guys didn't know what they wanted. I knew what I wanted though, and it wasn't either of them. I wanted my fill of touch. They couldn't give me enough even if they tried. I was through with them trying to seduce me.

But I continued to dance with them, drunk on their touches and high on the attention. I closed my eyes sensually hypnotized by the attention to my body. I knew what I was doing to those girls and guys around me. I felt it bouncing off of me. I felt the dozens of eyes on me. In particular, one person's gaze burned into me. I didn't have to see him to know he was watching me. I opened my stolen empathy more.

There it was, his untamed jealousy. It came off in waves. I smirked. It seemed as though he picked up on my game and didn't bother to block his anger. Maybe not anger, but envy. Had I gone too far this time? I mused. No. He knew the game. He enjoyed the aftermath. I enjoyed everything.

Maybe it was because my heart was racing that I felt everything in slow motion and fast motion. I felt the men gyrating against me, but I felt the red pulse of anger come slowly closer to me. And slowly, the men backed away. I was left to myself with a small ring around me of open space. I was seducing the music to bend with my will. My arms raised above my head to loll around with the beat as my hips dropped and curved with the bass.

At last the unfurled jealousy was slowly released into playful lust and slight annoyance. I wouldn't acknowledge him first. I knew he scared off my suitors with his empathic eyes. He was buying his time, just stalking me. He could do what he wanted, but I wouldn't acknowledge him first.

"Y' play a dangerous game, _chere,_" he whispered in my ear, running his rough, jagged hands up my arms and down my sides, biting my ear harder than normal. My hands framed his face and stroked it lightly, taking the smallest amounts of him in each brush.

I smirked. "Frustrated? Or just jealous?" I asked softly, leaning my head back a little, but he heard me clearly over the blaring music.

"You bein' close to those _hommes_ made a lot of people jealous," he retorted, breathing spicy smoke tinged fragrances down my neck. He warmed me up. "It's enough to make anyone frustrated." He rolled his hands down my skirt just for effect.

I felt the shivers of sensual touch crawl over my senses. It weakened my blocks a little. I waited until his hands were clearly positioned on my skin before I started my soft, unnoticeable pull. I wanted to see what I'd get from him. Plus, my psyches find his energy the most delicious, the most enticing. I can't blame them. I find his touch enticing. But then again, I find most people's touch enticing, in the right mood.

Most people wouldn't notice the small drain of energy, if they didn't know me. But he was sharp. He was a private man. If you wanted to know, you had to ask- unless he offered. I neither asked, nor was offered. He flipped me around quickly. His eyes burned playfully, but I know he was slightly surprised.

"What do y' want to know?" He pulled me in and rested his hands around my shrinking waist.

"Jus' keepin' ya on yah toes, Gambit. Can't be too careful around meh," I murmured against his lips and petted his cheek with the backside of my hand.

"Back t' Gambit. An' here Ah thought we got past dat," he shook his head, eyes burning into mine.

"Public place, sugah. Ya know the only place it changes at," I reprimanded him.

"Remind me t' take y' there when we're done here," he whispered before grasping my waist, closing the space between us.

It was like a battle, someone trying to get the upper hand. Our tongues fought in frustration. I bit his lip back for the ear bite from earlier. I felt a low toned growl from him. Good. He deserved that. That's the only thing I wanted to state in our lip-to-lip conversation. The rest was his to fondle and attack.

I felt him try to be calm and gentle about being in the club with me, but maybe he had one too many bourbons shots. His hands pressed me up against him. He moved his leg between mine, just to prove a point. Point proven, he played with the hem of my skirt and slightly raised it, feeling the top of my thighs and partially between them.

I drew his face closer with my own hands, running my fingers through his hair. I wanted more from him. He stole away from our rhythm and began suckling at my neck furiously, biting and kneeding my skin. Good. I wanted more of the attention and the touch.

He was frustrated and I was frustrated. It was about time we both got our relief.

"Ya bout ready t' get back home yet, Remy?"

He took one last kiss from my mouth before leading me out the door.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Woot! Another chapter done! These chapters just get exciting and exciting-er for me to write. I'm really excited for the next chapter. Based off the ending of this chapter, guess why? Hint: Sex?

This chapter is one side to Rogue's touch fetish whilst on drugs. Being on drugs and alcohol shows to Rogue that her mutation is purely psychological, and sober she's too fucked up to control her powers. It's quite depressing to her. Part of the reason she's always drugged is to get her control. Sure, there are major side effects, but if it makes her feel good and give her control, who gives a rat's ass, ehy? People notice her antics, but can't care because she's riding high on her control stick. People want to help, but she can't reach out and all that sappy blah blah crap. She feels lack of attention, and thus puts herself out on a limb to get attention from those that don't know her to get attention. Desperate? Just maybe. Oh yea, and we just introduced Gambit, so where is that going?

I'm dying sick right now (minor cold thing, I think) and I'm writing this on my bed. This was just kinda spit out of my drugged out (ibuprofen and Dayquil- not actual Rogue drugs!!!), delusional, feverish, sneezey head, so if there are any rifts in the story line, tell me, and I'll correct. I just really wanted to get this out, cuz the next chapter's going to be fun!

So yea, look for the second chapter hopefully within one month from now! Read it and weep! It should be fun. Hint: chronicles of a virgin, or NOT?

On a last note, thank you EVERYONE for reviewing!!! Leash, Lucyfier's Angel, Keiko, ishandahalf, Miss Atayla, Zaya, inTHEgrid, sexy.butterfly, Hotlips247! Love and Rice Krispies for you all! Tell your friends! I'll be fun!

Review!!!

MidniteAngelGoth


	3. Chapter 3: Relief

**Summary:** A day at the end of a rogue. A contemplation of herself and all she does. It's a series of short stories based on a slightly different take of the Rogue. Rated M for drugs, alcohol, sex, and suicidal tendencies. Slight Romy. "It was all for the attention."

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I is but a poor Peep.

On With the Show!!!!

**Attention Addiction**

Chapter 3: Relief

I closed the door with a boot-made thud as he pressed me up against the door. He immediately lifted my arms above my head, restraining me like a chained damsel in distress as he detained my lips from an annoyed pout with his own. He crushed me against the door, positioning a leg between mine, digging his member into the sensitive inside of my thigh.

Damn him.

He grasped my above hands with one huge paw and used the other to find bare skin to stroke. His lips moved past my gasping ones and attacked my ear, nuzzling and nibbling it. I could smell the spicy cigarettes he had earlier wafting through his smooth auburn hair. His hands caressed the side of my face with rough skin and weaved their way into my hair. His hand slipped past my neck tenderly and down the side of my breast. It reached down to my open stomach and kneaded the skin there.

Damn him. He knew me too well, my torture spots.

"Somethin' tells meh ya might still be angry 'bout earlier," I breathed out. His breathing sent shivers down my side and his close proximity made my heart pound.

"What makes y' say dat?" The cool nonchalance hummed into my ear was a sign he was.

"Could it beh because ya got me held up and tortured?" I purred back. He looked at me playfully. His eyes burned sharper in the dark of his room than in the dark of the club.

"Dis ain't torture, _chere_," he glinted back, his voice getting softer and more suggestive.

"Yea, well, bein' unable ta do anything is torture to a southern gal like meh," I reminded him.

"Is dat so?" He mused in my ear. I didn't like the sound of that. "Y' can get out o' dis. But do y' want t'?"

I froze. He was right; I had all the powers I needed to get out of this vulnerable position. But his hand that was formerly playing with the revealed skin on my stomach was slowly reaching lower and lower. His hand glided over my skirt with pressure and lifted up the skirt slightly. His hand reached behind me and grabbed my ass, squeezing it just for effect. With hands and a grasp like his, you can't help but to moan a little and fuck, even lean in to the bastard.

He smiled against my skin and brought himself to kiss me again. "Enjoyin' y'self?"

"Shut up." Smart move, Rogue. You've just now admitted that he's winning. He chuckled against my lips. I felt his hand release my ass.

And slowly move up front. Slowly. Tantalizingly slow. "Torture," I growled angrily.

"Is it now?" His hand began drawing small, light circles on my inside thigh. His tongue drew small circles around mine. I must admit, he is good at multi-tasking.

I think somewhere along this part I started squirming. Not squirming as in being uncomfortable, but squirming as in his touches beginning to feel unbelievably good. Speed again, also increases the physical pleasure. Granted, it had worn off considerably with the alcohol with mental functioning, but the bodily high could keep me going for a couple of hours.

His fingers began to creep higher and higher, making my back arch slightly in anticipation. I felt my skirt bunch up more and my breathing hitch slightly. His hand had touched my panty and was slowly moving it aside.

He began tracing my "button", as I like to call it, softly, then moving down traced the curve of my lower lips. His finger teased my opening and I could feel his finger just barely opening me. Not enough. No where near enough. He backed away and began teasing my clit again. Slowly. Tantalizingly slow. His fingers tweaked me slightly. I gasped at the shock and leaned into his touch more.

"Ah guess Ah was right."

"Hardly," he murmured against my lips.

"Then what?" He tweaked me again then started massaging my clit again in light, feathery circles.

"Just continuing our game of torture, _chere_."

"Try _startin'_ yer game of torture," I exhaled in respond.

"Is this torture, Rogue?" He started rubbing with more pressure and speed and smirked.

"Damn you," I slightly groaned. I felt my fingers twitch above me. I had hollow, growing pangs of pleasure pang throughout my body like rockets. And yet, other parts of me felt empty. The idea of filling those other parts was driving me crazy.

"Because seein' you in t' club wit' those _hommes_ was pure torture,_ chere_," he purred in my ear. He tweaked me again, and kept going faster.

"Dey wanted y', everyone wanted y'. Dey both wanted t' take y' out back and have their way with you."

He slowed down again. Ugh. He was frustrating me more than in the club. I let out a small whimper. Damn him again.

"Dere hands were all over y'. Dey wanted t' kiss y'. But y' kept teasin' dem. And me. It made me a very jealous _homme_," he near growled. He slowed to a near complete stop. He twirled his finger around me. I was nearly embarrassed; I was turned on for him, and very noticeably so. He glided his finger up and down me, stopping at my entrance and poking through the very edge of it, playing with its expandability.

"But y' know what, Rogue?" His eyes burned smolderingly bright.

"What?" I challenged him with a ragged tone and licked my lips.

He kissed me and mouthed against my lips, "Ah still wanted you bad."

He chose that moment, where I was most vulnerable and unaware, to push his finger through and plunge in me. I let out a low moan as my lower body instinctively jerked towards him and my upper body further pressed itself into the door in ecstasy. This was the pressure I was missing, the part that needed to be filled.

"Ah still wanted to take only y' back to t' Mansion wit' me." He began to move in and out slowly. "Ah only wanted t' kiss _y'_." His hand pumped faster into me. "Ah only wanted t' be between y' legs." He added his thumb, drawing circles around my clit again. "Ah wanted it from y'."

He began slowly going faster and faster. "But what do y' want, Rogue?"

He's asking me to talk now. When I'm in the throes of ecstasy, where he's pleasuring the hell out of me. I can feel the tremors of pleasure come at faster and faster intervals. My hands are twitching in his hands. He kept going faster. I don't know how I managed to breathe something out.

"Ah want it, Ah want it now."

And he stopped.

That damn bastard.

He released my arms from their numbed grip. They, instead of dropping to regain blood circulation, decided "Fuck you, Rogue, he's ours." One rested on his muscular chest, the other seized his face for a tongue war. Shouldn't I be angry about him stopping my pleasure?! But no. Sex comes before sense.

Naturally, being the guy Remy is, he was more than ready to comply and embraced me by my hips and slowly started leading me to the bed. Well, fuck it. Literally.

We began disassembling ourselves. First, we kicked off our boots in our mad rush for sex. That's as far as I got. My hands wandered, and started shrugging off his trench coat. The back of my legs hit the edge of his bed and he laid me down gently, leaving a kiss as he went back up (for air) to take off his shirt.

And damn me. Even though it's not my first time seeing a topless Remy, I still can't help but to internally appreciate. I never say that out loud. In fact, some days I'm as mean as to ask him "Have you gained weight?" I lie to him every time. He has a body to be appreciated, to be touched. That's what I'm here for.

His battle scars of life are splattered all over his body. His torso is lean and chiseled and beautifully warm. His arms know how to work and please. I don't care that his manly hands are rough and strong. Is it really my fault that his skin is the only one I really want to touch me?

And he did touch me. After taking off his shirt, he laid down on top of me between my legs. It's always such a nice feeling having something between your legs. It makes you feel loved.

He kissed me again, demanding my attention by yanking at my lip greedily. His hands wandered down my side carelessly and moved back up my backside. He licked my lips as he began undressing me. I didn't mind. My hands were tangled in his mane. My legs couldn't stop trying to mold themselves around him.

He began with my skirt, unzipping it from my back. He unwound himself from me long enough to slide it down my fishnet legs. He came back up to gently roll the fishnets down my leg, then furiously throw them away. His hands seized my legs and caressed them with kisses coming back up. His kisses started at my ankle then slowly worked themselves upwards to the inside of my thigh. At the very inside, he decided to nibble and suck a little. His eyes glowed devilishly at me as he came back up to meet me.

That bastard.

He got on me again, but I flipped us over. I knelt over his lower half and held his torso down with my hands

"What's d' meanin' of dis?"

Honestly, I had no idea. But he had undressed me to the point of near birthday suit. I was in a very revealing top and a pair of black panties. There was no he was getting off with just taking off his shirt while he oogled at me.

I narrowed my eyes playfully. "Ya not keepin' up with the deal."

His eyes challenged me. "How so?"

I began sliding my hands lower and lower, finally reaching his pants button and undoing it. Now, normally, I would take his pants off straightway. But I was angry. He stopped my fun. He tortured me.

So I phased them off of him. And I know he hates that feeling. I hate it too, it feels weird. I only wonder how that feeling on his southern region felt. He glowered at me.

"Payback a bitch, isn't it?" I crooned. I threw the pants away and sat on him. On _him_.

Even through his boxers I could feel him hard and ready underneath me. I clenched my southern muscles a little, knowing he'd feel it through the cloth. I slid my hands down to touch the tip of him and gently massaged it, gyrating my hips against him slowly. He growled. I smirked.

"Y'know what, _chere_?" He warned.

"What?"

He sat up and kissed my lips. Then he flipped us over and took his previous position on me.

"Deal's a deal." He reached behind me and undid the zipper to my shirt, peeling it off of me.

And here I lay, pretty much fully exposed to him. He takes his hand and runs it across the side of my chest, using his fingers to tweak the nipples.

I'm not unnerved by being naked. Nope. Actually, I rather enjoy it. I can feel him, every morsel of him running across my body. Just the thought of him touching me more turns me on. His warmth is comforting and I just want to wrap myself in it. So what do I do?

I wrap my leg around his and rub it up and down his. I want to feel more of him. He leans down slowly and I meet his lips furiously. His body is so warm against mine. The pleasuring feeling of him rubbing up against me is intoxicating. I'm becoming more and more heated and squirmy. He takes my movement as a sign.

"What do y' want, _chere_?"

He's rubbing against me more. I can feel his member present itself harder and his hands wandering all over my body. His kisses move all over me, sliding down my front and down my chest. I'm getting antsy for some action. I love the feeling of him on me; it's not a suffocating feeling, as he holds some of his weight off my shrinking body. But the pressure on me is accompanied by the warmth. I'm usually so cold all the time.

"Touch meh," I partly moaned.

He untangles my legs from around him and rolls my panties down my legs and throws them across the room and lies between my open legs again. He reaches a hand down to torturously arouse me again. Just feeling him that close to me already makes me shake. He begins rubbing me and caressing me, eventually reaching inside of me and doing both. I feel myself tense up pretty quickly; but I guess he's just jumpstarting the engine again. I was already raring to go when that bastard stopped earlier.

My hands are gripping the sheets as he's suckling my chest and working his magic downstairs. My senses are going haywire. I'm not used to so much touch in one night. The speed is still working wonders and the alcohol is such a relaxing relief. His boxers are creating friction on the sensitive part of my inner legs. He's pressing himself into me still. So close, yet so far.

Normally, I don't let guys take their time with me like this. I like to fuck them and leave them. It's a nice feeling, knowing I don't care so long as I get mine. I don't give any either. Why waste my time like that? I'm a selfish bitch, I know, for always receiving and never giving. But why do anything when touching feels so damn good?

But why do I always let Remy take his sweet time torturing me? It's always like this with him. He's the king of sexing girls up. I can't help but want to be sexed up too, I guess. His sweet talk, his sweet gestures, his sweet mouth and ugh. Sober, I know I would have to puke. Wasted and turned on, I don't mind him coiling me up like a fucking slinky.

I'm ready release any time now. I don't like wasting my releases on simple finger-fucking. But I almost always let Remy finger-fuck me until my brains ooze out of my ears. His sweet touch and sweet manly-man hands are worth it, I suppose.

But tonight, I wanted something different. I didn't want it unless it was all the way. I didn't want to half-ass myself when I could have the real deal right now. I've been coiling myself up too long, and I want some relief now, damnit.

He's pulling me closer and closer to the top. I can feel the burning sensation of pleasure race everywhere. But not now.

He reached back up to nuzzle me in comfort. "Take meh." I really didn't mean for that to sound so desperate.

"Take y' how?"

That bastard. "Ah need it."

"Then y'll have it," he hummed. His fingers still rotating around my clit, he slid off his boxers. I felt him rub up against the inside of my thigh. He smirked. I glared. It was almost too much sensation and not enough at the same time.

"Damnit, stop torturin' meh," I growled.

"Am Ah now?"

He placed himself at my opening, just to fuck with me. (Pun.) I felt myself getting closer and closer with his continuous motion and his member placed at my very entrance. Damn bastard knows how to make it last. My body was clenching. The sheets were getting tangled and wrinkled in my death-gripped hands. My head was thrown back in blissful pain.

His head loomed over mine. He was still positioned. He was still ready. His lips a few inches from mine, he looked down hungrily.

"What do you want, _chere_?"

I leaned up and whispered against his lips. "Ah want it."

I'll pretend I didn't see that look of almost disappointed recognition in his eyes. My eyes were too clouded over with lust, yes, that's it.

He leaned down towards me. I bit his lip hungrily and whimpered as I welcomed him into me. I molded my legs around him as I forced him more into me.

He began softly and slowly at first, alongside such sweet innocent kisses. Always with the sweet kisses. He held his own weight up as he sucked my skin to sin. His arms scooped me up with passion. It almost felt like he was saying "Hold on to me, I can save you." With hands weaving themselves throughout me, I was almost obliged to hold him something back. My hands stopped their grip and ran their nails softly down his back in pleasure. Softly, just like his kisses, at first.

He glided in and out. It was so easy, the way he did it, the way I allowed it. So simple. Things are never simple, though. I started off where he left me. Almost at the edge. Ready to fall off the cliff. Except, this way, it's harder to fall, or in my case, get pushed off the edge. My nails dug harder into his back as he burrowed further into me. He hit the spot with ever beat and left me gasping for more. I was moaning softly mewls that demanded more. And he gave me more. I don't even think I said it aloud and he delivered. His head was buried in my neck, giving me sweet, bruised purple plums on my neck.

"Y're mine," he rumbled into them. I didn't care. I'll be his. For tonight, at least. The healing powers will kick in sometime after and there will be no trace of him. For now, I'll humor him.

I rocked against him, my legs tied up behind him and my fingernails running down his back.

I think somewhere along this point I started babbling. Maybe it was in my head. More moaning, than babble. He said something back. My head was twisted back in delight. I could feel it coming. I was tightening and jerking around. He bit my neck harder. I almost have him coming too. My spasms continued.

I think I kept softly moaning. Not his name. I've learned not to say anyone's name in the throes of ecstasy.

Then that bastard reached down, and started touching me more. As if what he was doing wasn't enough. It felt so damn good I almost lost track of everything in my head. My legs almost fell. It took a lot of will power not to drop and give up our game of torture.

"Damn you." I dug my nails into him.

He kept the pace and doubled the time with his fingers. I can't believe the endurance I've built from having sex. But still. Normally I'd be screaming some obscenity right now, but goddamn. I think that fucker's using his empathy on me. Calming me, suppressing the urge to come. I want it.

"Say it."

He was holding me at a stasis with his empathy. He knew I was there, he knew I was ready to lose my mind in the colors of orgasms and rainbow of speed. He was holding me until he could get what he wanted.

"Please- Ah-"

"Say it, or Ah'll keep y' here," his voice spoke low and threateningly against my ear.

My internal conflict rose. I don't normally say it. It goes against my touch addiction. Just another face. Just another fuck. Damn him for wanting more. Damn him for holding me over the cliff. Damn him for not letting me go.

"Remy," I whined. "Please, Rems."

Thus, I have acknowledged the person I am fucking has a name.

He let go of the mental dam a bit. A new explosion of shockwaves drowned my body. So good.

"Oh god, Rems."

* * *

I want it so much more. I want to feel more of this, more of the intoxication of sex and touch and feeling momentarily loved. And that's my problem. Whenever I'm intoxicated, not only the drugs intoxicate me, but the thought of touch intoxicates me. Luckily for me, I can negate my powers while intoxicated. Thus, in my recent months or year or something of drug use, I've become a slut. 

I don't know how it started. Maybe when I was first denied touch. Maybe then. I guess that's reasonable, being condemned to a life of sticky sweat and a pale, mar-able body. Maybe it was when the forbidden fruit dangled in front of my very eyes for days upon days of the horrible eternity that was called spring, summer, and fall. I was told I couldn't have it and it became my bitter torture. It held my fascination on end. I asked Irene once what was it that made it so that I couldn't touch it.

She answered it was poison, that it would ruin my mind. The skin is human sin exposed, she explained, and would lead to my ruin.

I think it's funny that she was right. Even though my whole childhood was a lie, that one day, that one conversation was the only thing that was true and I disregarded it all. I believed everything but that one comment. I thought she was wrong and just to spite her, I became unknowingly obsessed with touching.

Every little finger flick around me caught my attention. Every morsel of skin exposed caught my attention. I became enthralled with the different shades of skin around and fanaticized about its smooth or rough texture.

Add this sad mania with my absorption powers at 15. Naturally, any person's defense mechanism forced them to become afraid of things that hurt. Absorbing hurts. I absorb through skin. Thus, skin hurts. But with the common cliché, how can it be so bad when it feels so good? Not good to absorb, good to touch. It still felt good to touch before the initial suction began. Bittersweet, I suppose.

But in my position, with an infallible obsession and yearn for the warmth that only skin provided, I suppose I began to go crazy. Crazy with want. The Mansion probably believes that my "inability to have a boyfriend" has led me to depression, and has made me lonely and reclusive because I have no one to "love" or "talk to."

They can kiss my vampiric ass. I can have a boyfriend. I have. They've only lasted a day long, but I have. Sure, for the physical parts of it, I may need to be fucked up but again, sacrifices.

I just don't need all that love crap. So long as I feel the blood rushing in skin that molds a person, I am cured of this obsession. So long as I feel it all over me, I'm fine. I don't need this love thing. Sex, I have learned, is a great way to feed this hunger. Not because I'm looking for someone to love, but because I'm looking for someone to touch me.

I figured this out while I was high, go figure. I was dancing in some club nearby when the high hit me. I was dancing and watching some couple rape each other. So much beautiful skin. I wanted to touch it. But I saw the couple themselves and I didn't want it. No. I knew what I wanted instead.

And maybe something clicked psychologically in my head. A little trigger was turned off in my head. This thought hits me over and over again while I'm high: I don't need anyone, I just need touch. The primal urge in me was clawing its way out from my fingertips and I was reaching for some guy's face who was dancing in front of me before the full thought process could finish.

I had found my secret to uninhibited touch.

I don't exactly remember what occurred that night. I could have had sex for the first time and not even realized it. Before I knew it, I was waking up at some random guy's apartment every other day. So many faces flash through my head when I have sex now. I can never remember who I'm having sex with, normally. In my usually fucked up state, I can no way in hell remember their name or how I met them. I walk home from whatever guy's apartment I happen to be in and hope I'm in the right city, state, or country. I don't even remember how many different apartments I've been in. Every morning however, I assume I had gotten my fill of touch. I assume I had sex. I assume I no longer care. And for all I know, I could be a walking STD. But I don't care. My mind's disintegrated and my body might as well rot along with it. I haven't been in the right frame of mind for months. My addiction is saved once more.

The frustration of touch would continue mounding over a couple of days. I'd be back to my partying ways. It's been like this for months now. I'd get frustrated, I'd get stoned or drunk, I'd go party, I'd go have sex. But of all the guys I've fucked, I think I may tend to favor Remy. Some bizarre reason is there, I'm sure of it, but I'll get back to you when I realize what that reason is.

Maybe it's because I can throw it in his face, just like I throw everything else into other people's faces. Kitty, Kurt, Logan, everyone. I can throw my lifestyle in their face and laugh because they can't stop me. They wouldn't know how to begin.

And Remy definitely wouldn't know how to. My drugged and touchable skin is so easily tempting. Any girl who dresses like me on club night could catch his attention, with the right dance moves, the right alcoholic beverage, the right company. I had all of this, on that night.

I was doped up on coke that night. I held a colored drink in my hand, someone had paid for me again. Some guy who had just danced with me. As fucked up as I was, I still felt someone watching me. I should have guessed it was someone from the Mansion; I always felt myself being watched at the mansion.

I sat on a stool with the guy on the side of me, leaning coolly on the bar. He was saying something and I responded. He touched my arm and lead me back to the dance floor. I assume it was more intimate now because he bought me a drink, and thus he took it to a new level. I didn't mind. He wasn't horrible looking and even smelt good. We danced closer than normal. I was in my normal skin baring outfit and he wanted to take advantage of me, as I read from his head. Fine by me.

He touched me and even reached in to kiss me. It was all welcome fun.

I led him to the back alley of the club. I knew what he wanted. I wanted him. I didn't remember his name and I didn't care. I pushed him up against the wall and mentally suggested he hit it.

And he did against the building wall. It wasn't great or so I vaguely remember. It doesn't matter, anyways. Nothing else existed but the skin on skin action.

When we were done, I decided I had enough of him. I was done when we were done. I didn't want to deal with any of his "Let's go back to my place, babe, and continue this," because I honestly didn't care for him after that. My addiction was filled for a night. I was ready to go back.

So lead him back into the club. And erased his memories. I left.

I lit a cigarette and waited for the taxi I had reserved for the night. I heard someone come behind me silently. I waited. They said nothing. I felt their eyes on my back.

"Jus' say something," I told them flatly. It had to be someone from the Mansion. I leaned my head on my elbows, smoking away.

"So d' infamous untouchable is touchable."

"Wouldn't it seem that way?" I mused. Unmistakable accent.

"It would." He sat next to me on the bench. "Must say, dis is quite d' surprise."

I blew out smoke and chuckled. "Surprise that ya didn't see it or that this is an X-geek?"

"Both. Guess th' Rogue got ever'one fooled."

"More than ya think." How true. I still hadn't looked at him. He was still watching me from the corner of his eyes.

"M' surprised y' didn't tell ever'one y' could touch. Woulda been big thing t' celebrate _avec sa familie_."

"Jus' one more thing they don't know about meh," I tossed back.

"What else, Rogue? Do they not know y' snuck out to a club with a fake ID too?"

"Not a damn clue.'

"Y're just full of surprises."

"Ah try."

I continued smoking. I offered him some. He declined. I was ready to laugh, because he's the second ranking smoker of the mansion (Logan being the first), except he looked deep in thought.

"How drunk are y'?" he asked suddenly.

"Hardly enough. As high as a kite though," I smiled. Higher, actually. No need to scare the Cajun, though.

"Why? Y' got what you want."

Touch. That's what he was referring to. I had touch, why would I drown myself in drugs and alcohol and partying and sex? He had the same power problems. Uncontrollable. He had to reach for outside help. I had his memories, I knew his depth in horrid images and death. Shouldn't he guess this was my outside help?

I guess not. Just like everyone else.

I stood up and threw my stub at the ground. I turned around to look at him with an amused smirk. I straddled him on the bench. He looked slightly surprised but tried to smirk it off.

I looked into his eyes. And began using his own empathy on him.

His eyes narrowed. He felt me playing with his emotions.

"What are y' doin'?" he asked calmly.

I ignored the question. "Ah'm free. Can't ya see? Ya of all people should know the price of havin' control." I stroked his cheek with my bare hand and ran my hand through his hair lightly. "This is the only way Ah get what ah want." I paused and smirked his smirk. "And what Ah want, Ah will get."

Mesmerized with my drugs, I kissed him. He returned, but was surprised.

"Surprised? After all this time spent starin' at meh in the mansion, do ya not want it? Or is the challenge over?" I spoke in a low knowing voice. I had his thoughts, the unconscious motives behind his leering.

The taxi behind me honked. I got off of him.

"D' challenge's far from over, Rogue," he confronted. It was over. I wasn't going to allow any more of myself besides the physical. I knew his goal was far from physical.

"Well then, sugah, ya're always welcome."

He knew what I meant by that.

I saw him around the Mansion. Nothing changed, as I had hoped. The same cat-calls, gestures, innuendoes. The stares were the only thing that changed. Subtle, but I felt them.

It was only a while until he popped up at my regular club. Dancing, drinking, kissing, we did all that. He didn't want to take it further for a while. And one day he did. After he saw me stumble my way into my room with hickies all over my neck and sex hair.

Poor thing, I guess it was finally too much that I wasn't his. It was too much that I could get what I want from other guys and not need him.

And so I switched off between other guys and him. He began to be my favorite. Why? Because he knew how to touch me. His years of fucking Bella and not loving her paid off. His years as a bachelor and notches on his bed post finally paid off. The pre-drug addiction dreams and nightmares I would get of him fucking the lights out of someone finally paid off.

I could get what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. Even if it wasn't how I wanted, I still got spoiled.

But tonight was different.

He didn't ravish me greedily like he normally did though. It was unnerving. With him, or with any guy I've fucked, I'm used to mad, I've-got-to-have-it-now dominatrix style sex. This way, I knew something was wrong. Something was melancholic while he sexed me up.

His damn sweet kisses. If I was sober, maybe they would have gotten to me. Correction: if I was sober and clean. Withdrawal Rogue is never sociable enough to have sweet kisses affect her.

His damn caressing. And holding. He cannot be a savior.

His torture. As fun as fucking him is, it always comes with torture. Non-sexual torture. Making me say his name is torture. Making me acknowledge him as a member of my life is torture. Holding me stasis so I can't feel the relief I've been needing is torture.

Listening to his whispered French as I wake up from my sex-induced sleep is torture. His sweet words, and sweet caresses on my face and hair. His warm body. It's all torture.

"…_as besoin d'arrêter ce que tu fais…"_

He didn't remember that I have him in my head. I know what he says.

"… lost so much weight because of it…it's not healthy…" he decided.

And what you did to gain control was? I forgot killing and stealing for control was better than taking drugs. Sorry, I won't make that mistake again.

"…makes me sick to watch you slowly kill yourself… don't eat… drugs you take every night…amounts of alcohol you consume…I see you stumble around your room at night…miracle you function humanly during the day…"

I take offense to that.

"…clubs you let them touch you where ever they want…don't you care…"

Well, next time, I'll decide to suddenly care and tell you that so you don't touch me like everyone else does.

"…happened earlier at dinner. Why don't you let anyone help you…push everyone away…"

Because you are just like everyone else with the pushing away crap.

"…open up to me…"

Haven't I already? I don't exactly go having sex with everyone in the Mansion, do I?

"…arms are torn up… don't kill yourself… let me help…please…"

I hurry myself to sleep. It's usually after this line that I decide not to listen anymore. After this, his words become unbearable. I don't need to listen to him make up shit about our relationship. He doesn't love me.

* * *

It hurts. The voices in my head hurt. The withdrawal hurts. The hangover hurts. I hurt. 

It's bright outside. The sun peaks in through his window and extenuates the skin tone contrast Gambit and I have. He's human colored, I am not.

He's sleeping with an arm around me. So warm. Hopefully he Frenched himself to sleep.

It's morning, so that means people are up. I'm careful enough during my night rendezvous' to make it to my room before anyone can see me. This morning I wasn't so careful. I slept in. I slept in and slept in his room the whole night.

Ugh, if people find out, they're bound to think something _relationship-like_. I can only hope nobody's out there.

I touch his face softly. I feel my powers slowly suck him unwillingly. I yank my hands back. My drugs have worn off dangerously.

I get up. I'm still naked. My clothes are flung around the room. I pick them up one by one and put them on with concentration. I woke him up. I feel his eyes on my back. He says nothing. I say nothing.

I put on my shoes and stuff my money and ID's in my bra. I fix my hair and wipe some make up that had creased over the night off.

I walk out the door wordlessly and close it softly, as if I hope he's still asleep. Who am I kidding, I know he's not.

I walk down the hall in my slut-wear. I don't expect most of the guys to be roaming around or to be up, for any matter. Scott maybe. The others, not really. I'm in the guys wing, so to see them would be fatal.

I hear a door open behind me. Considering I've just past Scott's room, I wonder.

"Rogue?" Gasp, all ye, gasp. Yes, the untouchable is wearing a more revealing outfit than Tabitha.

"Ya think?" I turned around and glared.

"What are you wearing?!" He was stuck to the spot he stood on.

"Whatever the hell Ah want," I snapped back. He took dictator role and proceeded to have a stick up his ass.

"Why are you over here?" Oh, here comes the suspicion now!

"None of your business, Cyke," I continued on my way.

"Rogue! Get- " He shut up as soon as I flipped the bird. Let him think what he wants.

I trudged down the hall and passed the guys wing entrance. There were a few guys and girls walking up the staircase (New Recruits, I think) and they just stared. Well, the guys stared, the girls began whispering. I eyed them and they stopped.

I continued to our wing. If I could get to my room, I'd be home free. Home free…

But life hates me, naturally, and I was stopped.

"Oh my god, Rogue, what are you wearing?!" Oh Jean, don't be jealous you can't pull this off because of your stork-like body.

"What does it look lahke, Red?" I spat.

"The way you're dressed is just- I mean, with your condition it's-"

"What? Dangerous?! Listen Red, Ah know of a lot more dangerous things than me dressin' lahke this. An' if it bothers ya so much, then don't touch meh!"

I heard rustling from beside me.

"Like, Jean, what's going- What the hell, Rogue!"

Oh, sweet innocent Kitty.

"Where have you been! I've been looking all over for you!"

"Were you out all night, Rogue?" Now it was Jean's turn to be dictator.

"Not all night," I replied smugly. "Ah came back before dawn."

Kitty was mad. I can't blame her. The poor girl takes too much of my shit.

"Came back to where?" She spat angrily.

I stared straight back at her.

"Gambit's room."

It was quiet. There were more spectators than just the three of us. New Recruits again.

"Oh god," Jean whispered low with horror. She sprinted off towards the guy's wing. Kitty followed. I know why.

They wanted to make sure I hadn't sucked Gambit dry.

"Ah left him alive and breathing!" I screamed at them.

Damn them all. They wouldn't understand. They look at me and see the horrible skin I'm possessed with and get scared. Whatever. Fuck them.

The kids are staring. "What the fuck are you staring at?!" I screamed.

I walked into my room.

And closed the door.

I slid down the door and sat. I could see the mirror's reflection of me from across the room.

With the last remaining power I had left in my control, I shattered the mirror with telekinesis.

I did not like the girl staring back at me.

* * *

**Author's Note: **The longest chapter yet of the series! Be happy. Much time went into this. It was a really fun chapter to write. So many ideas I dabbled with and so many I meant to throw in but forgot. Again, based on the ending of this chapter, guess what next chapter's theme is? Hint: Ernest Hemmingway often used the last line of the chapter as the most important line. So do I. 

Btw, Translations?

_as besoin d'arrêter ce que tu fais_: You need to stop what you are doing (roughly) 

This chapter starts with sex, yes? After Rogue's dabble in drugs, then alcohol, I figured the next sensible step would be sex. So sex it is. It also furthers her addiction to touch. Remy wants to save her, blah blah blah. Typical one-sided Romy. She's only in it for the sex. Note how she says "I want it" instead of "I want you." She never actually says his name. Until the very end. (Dun, dun, dun!) That's there for a reason, boys and girls. But does she really want sex and no love? Based on the evidence, is she really all physical and no emotional? How does she really feel about having her own personal fuck buddy? Is she just being delusional to all that is around her? That's reader interpretation, my dears. It's hard coming up with stuff that hasn't already been used before. I'm trying…

The next chapter might take longer than usual. It will be the last chapter, and I need to find the perfect way to incorporate the first three chapters and the last chapters theme and how it points to the title. So much analysis, so little time. Again, hopefully the last chapter will be up in a month!

Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I would love some reviews, because I'm feeling lonely right now. I haven't seen my boyfriend in about two months and I feel just… lonely. Reviews would be nice!

MidniteAngelGoth


	4. Chapter 4: Release

**Summary:** A day at the end of a rogue. A contemplation of herself and all she does. It's a series of short stories based on a slightly different take of the Rogue. Rated M for drugs, alcohol, sex, and suicidal tendencies. Slight Romy.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I is but a poor Peep. I'd highly suggest rereading the previous 3 chapters as well as reading this slowly and let yourself be taken on the horrible emotional rollercoaster… (And review when you're done too plz!… heehee!)

On With the Show!

* * *

**Attention Addiction**

Chapter 4: Release

I love awkwardness. Especially among friends. "Friends." How they look at you after something happens. Every time something weird happens at the Mansion, I think of that Dane Cook joke- the one about daddy hitting mommy at the dinner table. Because really, that's what it feels like. Especially now.

I can feel their eyes. The new recruits are whispering about me and eyeing me, like I'm going to rip the spandex right off of me to reveal my stripper outfit and use Gambit as my pole. I've left a great impression on them. I shoot them a wild smirk and they all look away in shame. I saw the ice one look back down my body again. Oh, really? Yea, he'll get it later.

Scott and Jean are trying to restore dignity among the group, silently ignoring me and acting like nothing has happened: no, THE most dangerous X-man did NOT admit to having sex with the resident Cajun. That DID NOT happen. I can feel the effort put into physically turning themselves away from me and not ogling like the newer recruits. They want to look. I can feel Jean skimming my head. She can't get through, no matter how strong she's gotten. She'll get a drug haze, that's all.

Kitty and Kurt are paired off on the opposite side of the Control Room. Sulking. Kitty no doubt told Kurt of what happened. I bet she even informed him of my "recent" drug usage. Kurt looks abused, sad even. Dejected, there's a good word. Kitty looks down right pissed. Every occasionally, I can feel a little wave of anger from her and a quasi-glare. She's funny. I can understand her anger though. She's been bugging me about the Gambit thing FOREVER- and now she finds out I am and have been sleeping with him. Well, fuck me stupid, I'd hate me too.

What's really funny is Gambit's presence behind me. This guy is trying to fuck with me and for once, I don't want it. I can feel with his empathy a bunch of different emotions. He's trying to confuse me and not let me know what he's actually feeling. And then he'll completely cut off everything. When he knows I'm open to his empathy, he'll send me little bits of lust. And I'll shove back anger. I'll look back at him covered in the shadows and I know he's shrugging and thinking _"Quoi? Je ne fais rien." _And I think "Lies, you did ME."

And when he thinks I'm not paying attention, I can feel him lapse back into something. I can't explain it. It's not on the good spectrum of emotions. It feels like "I want to go drink until I pass out." What would that be classified as? With alcoholism as it is now, it needs a word to describe that emotion. Pre-shit faced. Yes. That works.

It's hard to focus on the objective of today's simulation. So I didn't. I figure it was another basic quasi Kill-Each-Other run. With a maze or some flying laser shit. More or less, I was right.

I took a stance in the far end of the Danger Room and peeled off my gloves. I did a couple of lines earlier, so my actual power isn't needed. They don't know that. For all they know and care, today will be a small, minor power freak out. The stress of everyone finding out about me sexing the Cajun up is just _so stressful_ and it caused my power _"freak-out."_

Or some other made-up bullshit like that.

The simulation starts. The images appear and solidify. Everyone's separated. Groups, partners, whatever Logan told them. I'm alone.

I smile. I'm a lone, one-woman army. The thought of taking everyone out is intoxicating. Surprise! Look at me! I have control. I'm a druggie because of it, but whatever. Teh uber winz.

I walk normally around the warehouse maze. I can hear people trying to quietly maneuver around. I can hear their conversations with their partners. I can hear their thoughts. I can hear their heartbeats from behind the crate next to me.

I phase through the crate and peer out. The princess is slowly meandering the other way. I step out and she hears me. I can feel her heart quicken; her expression becomes fearful then determined. She forms a ball of magma in her hands and hurls it at me. I catch it and toss it between hands.

She steps back horrified. I walk up to her slowly.

"Throw these fireballs all ya'd like, just keep ya hands to yaself, sugah." I let the ball dissolve in my hands.

Before she knows it, I'm behind her. I grab her arms and jerk them behind her.

"You're out, Princess," I breathed in her ear. She slumped to the ground as I released the mental locks on my powers.

The voices in my head are excited now. Even that little taste of energy turned them on and I can feel them bouncing around my head. Bouncing isn't the right word. They're anxiously pacing, waiting for the next time they can take over. Damn ungrateful brats. I give them leeway to absorb whenever they fucking want and they still can't wait to get a hold of my body. Honestly, they get more turned on by the thought of touching someone than I do.

"Magma's out," growled Wolverine's uncertain, wary voice over the intercom. I knew what he was thinking and hear the calm undertones of panic in his gruff, loud voice. 'What just happened down there?' I grinned as I stood up. There were of couple of other recruits who had been tagged already. The best were last. I walked a bit down the aisles of the crates and heard the gleeful sound of battle and soon a triumphant cry and a hurt groan. I stepped out.

"Cannonball, yer out." Wolverine didn't sound nearly as cautious with this win.

I laugh, looking at the murderer. Naturally. "Good job, Popsicle," I drawled. He was surprised and slightly scared. As he should be. He got in a defensive stance.

"Oh, ya wanna fight? Not oogle at me lahke ya were earlier? How cute," I crooned. He iced up and started a running slide towards me. How fun and convenient I had just absorbed Magma, remember?

I started a ball of magma in my hand and with Pyro's powers, I was easily able to shape-shift the magma form into the exact replica of him. Popsicle stopped mid-drift and looked horrified awe. "Surprise," I drawled. The fire figure rushed at him, barely missing the fleeing recruit in a mid-leap. The impact of the explosion sent him sprawling against the crates. Out of the corner of my hearing peripheral, I hear something twitch.

I walked up to the nearly unconscious boy and bent down to caress his cheek with a bare hand. Naturally, he flinched.

"Oh, an' here Ah though ya wanted me. Too bad." I leaned down to kiss him on the lips briefly and stepped back.

The poor kid's going to feel like smashed shit when he wakes up.

"Iceman is out." Wolverine's voice was growing more growly and suspicious by the win.

A heartbeat thumped louder, faster.

"Ya can come out, Kurt."

A moment passed as he ported right in front of the kid, knelt down on his haunches and inspected him and the surrounding, burnt area.

"You really did this, Rogue?" He spoke quietly, as if I didn't know the extremity of where things lie.

"Ah suppose." Brace yourself for a talk, Roguey ol' girl.

"How? How could you do this much damage?" Obviously, he didn't know the extremity either.

"Really, it's not that hard," I deadpanned humbly. _Any_ mutant could do what I do, obviously.

He looked everywhere but me, as if the answers would jump from the crates and give him ass splinters.

"Kitty…" he started off, as if he didn't want to name names, "she told me. Vhy?"

"Why what?" Honestly, if you're going to ask me a question, please include the proper subject after the question word.

"Vhy everything! Do you still not trust us? Do you still hate us that much?" Jeez. Naturally, it's a pity party for everyone BUT me. They act as if I intentionally want to hurt them.

…Huh.

"Don't ya dare turn this around! It ain't got nothin' ta do with ya! It's about me! Now back off an' fight me!"

"No, Rogue! You need to-"

"What? Explain? Does it mattah? Did ya even notice any of this before? Do ya even care?" I hissed. "If ya did, ya'd know that Ah've been doing it foh _months_ before anyone knew anythang. How does that make ya feel? To know that Ah've been damn near committin' murder right before the X-Men's eyes? Well, gawd damnit! It makes meh feel great!"

I ported over to him and used the telekinesis to hold him still and telepathy to stop his powers. His face looked panicked.

"What's going on? I can't port!" I smiled. My tirade was over. Towards him anyways.

"It's the drugs," I told him simply. "But it doesn't matter, really. Ah have what Ah want." I smiled wanly as I ran my finger down his cheek. I laughed a little. The lines made everything feel weird. He really was fuzzy. And close up, he was miraculously blue. A deep blue. Like drowning.

"_Mein gott…_you… can touch…" He was amazed and enthralled and horrified by the finger touching his cheek.

I chuckled. "Ah've wanted to do that for a while."

I felt my stolen empathy kick in. Sad. He was so very sad.

"Damnit."

I smiled again, as sadly as he projected. I had to get this over with.

"Ya really are fuzzy…" I spoke to his drooping, unconscious form.

"Nightcrawler is out." There was no denying the dread now. I imagine at this point Wolverine was furiously sending thoughts to the Prof, asking him to scan my mental state. By now, it was probably obvious to any observer that I was calling out powers I hadn't absorbed today. He was probably putting the sim on autopilot, ignoring the rest of the group and analyzing me. He was watching me like a hawk, waiting for my next move.

"Every time you pull shit like this it tears him apart, you know," came Kitty's angry voice. She stepped out from beyond a crate hall.

"Yea, well not everything's candy and rainbows up the ass. He should learn that," I shot back.

"Jeez, would you just step back and realize what a bitch you're being for once," she commanded.

"How cute, is the pretty Kitty actually angry?" I put my hands on my hip and stanced.

"You're damn right I'm angry. You've put us all through enough of your crap." Her hands clenched at her side.

"Like Ah've done anythin' to ya."

"You've done plenty to us! Do you know how much we worry about you? How you're not eating, sleeping all day, and just a fucking hermit crab in general? We're not that inferior and oblivious." She spat.

"Oh, Ah'm sure that it just sprang up on ya'll one day and smacked ya in the face."

"Goddamnit!" She stepped closer until she was a few feet away from my face. Being that she was a good foot shorter than I was, it was slightly entertaining in my high and fucked-up state to see her angry face below my eye view.

"I've done so much for you and you don't even realize it! I'm the one who cleans up after you come back smashed, the one who lies for you when you ditch, or when you sneak out!"

"Sorrah, Kit, but Ah don't remember askin' ya ta do that."

She stopped. Then she glared. Her clenched fists shook and her face got red. Her eyes especially.

"You are such a bitch." She said, quavering. She threw the first punch.

I let it hit me. I think I deserved that much. After all, I lied. I do remember asking her to cover for me once or twice in the beginning. I was stoned when I asked, but I do nonetheless remember. The girl was surprisingly strong; she made me stumble a few steps back. She kept at it. After the third or fourth attempt, I began to phase through her attacks, still burning her energy, but not on me.

"Don't cheat! Fight me!" She yelled.

"Ya'd die if Ah fought ya," I retorted.

"You're probably too messed up on all your crack to fight," she sneered.

I caught her flying fist with my bare hands and watched gleefully as her eyes got wide. "Yea, ya probably right." I smirked.

"What the fuck have you done to yourself?" she whispered.

"Don't ask. Ya probably couldn't handle it."

I pushed her back and apparently I used super strength or some crazy shit like that because she flew and hit a crate. Hard. She let out a small cry.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, all hell broke loose.

I felt myself being shoved forward psychically. "What the heck, Rogue?" cried Jean's voice behind me.

I turned around and smirked. I set up my psychic field and flung her back. "What do ya want, Miss Perfect?" I snarled. She actually grimaced as I pushed her back on her perfect ass.

"What's wrong with you? You know this sim doesn't need that much power! Kitty could be seriously hurt because of you!" She sent another blast my way which I neatly dodged. Her perfect face was marred with the expression of deep hurt, concern, and plain confusion.

"Well then she shouldn't have been pissin' meh off! Just lahke ya!" I sent an equally powerful blast towards her right as she was standing. Had Scott not jumped and pushed them both out of the way, I would have got her perfectly.

"Rogue! This isn't you! Don't let the psyches control you!" Scott yelled.

"No, Scott." I reprimanded. "This is me. Crazy, fucked-up Rogue. That's me. Now fuckin' fight me!" I felt his powers rise up behind my eyes and I aimed. He saw what was going down and dragged Jean away from the near perfect shot I unleashed.

"Rogue, it doesn't have to be like this!" Jean's voice pleaded. She was leaning on Scott. I think I fucked up her perfect leg when I flung her back. Win. I wonder what it's like fucking with a huge cast on your leg. Oh wait. Nevermind. They're too perfect to do it.

"Please, Rogue, what is it?" Scott actually sounded concerned. Had I not been high with the drugs and the feelings of finally unleashing some fucking power, I might have tried to listen and be rational. After all, first crushes like that tend to have that effect on a young girl. Buuuuuuuut, no.

"Oh so _now_ ya'll want to know what's wrong? Ah mean, Ah was sure convinced that ya'll didn't want to know anything the way ya'll were carryin' on. Just ignore crazy-Rogue, she'll freak out soon enough and then everything will be all right. WRONG. NOTHIN IS RIGHT!" I couldn't help but screaming. But hell, it sure feels good to be all powerful, with the glow-y fist power and floating in the air.

Because all of a sudden, I had glow-y fist power and was floating in the air. I wouldn't doubt that my hair was flipping wildly and my eyes were glowing. I've always wanted that look. The shrinky-self-destruct initiAted look of a crazy evildoer. That look.

"Ya'll finally notice me when Ah become a threat to everyone else! A threat to ya'll's perfect way of life! What about me? What about being a fuckin' threat to mahself? It's only when Ah can do this," enter ball of flame-y, crackling power being hurled to the Danger Room floor directly underneath me whilst children flee, "that ya'll begin to wonder if something's wrong!"

"Please come down, Rogue," Jean pleaded. She looked and sounded so pathetically tired.

"Fuck you!" I threw a flame-y ball at her. She set up a force field around her and Scott so the flame dissipated.

"Stripes, calm down," Logan's voice barked over the loudspeaker. "Don't let your anger guide ya."

"And why the fuck not?" I turned to scream at him in the control deck. "The only thing that's guided me so far is the voices in mah head! Now it's mah turn! Somebody fuckin' fight me!"

And I felt something slam into my back and felt the energy that hit me shimmer throughout my body on impact, impressively with enough force to send me flying forward with the waves of the explosion. I smiled wistfully as I looked back. Gambit and his love for flying cards. He didn't say anything, just look at me with the painful intensity of a lover, except in a darker "I-know-your-secrets" kind of way. Because he's Gambit and that sexy smoldering look is one he does well.

But what does he really know anyways? Not me. Not even I know me. I felt my hands tingle, just looking at his beautifully rugged face. I felt the kinetic energy and gathered it back into my fingertips as a pink mass in my small hands. I hurled it at him. I was a slight bit relieved he used his bo-staff to launch himself away. Only a tiny bit though. He narrowly missed the explosion of Danger Room bits and smoke. I heard someone scream and people scuttling away. Yes people, shit just got serious.

"Rogue, stop!" Jean commanded me, with one hand outstretched and the other on her temple. I felt my body being bogged down, like a huge x-ray blanket weighing me down. I felt her sweep my mind the furthest edges of my mind, trying to find a crack to come in and contain my rage.

"Fine! When ya stop being a fuckin' pussy!" I screamed back. I screamed in my head as I pushed out my psychic force field against hers and obliterated it. She screamed. Yes, bitch, I'm powerful. In my distraction I felt something ram into my side and bring me down with such force that when I hit the ground, my side became embedded in the Danger Room floor. Ah, the Wolverine enters at last.

"Snap out of it, damnit," he growled and pressed me further into the ground.

"Then fight me!" I flung back my arm and he flew across the floor with such speed he rammed his claws into the steel floor to stop himself from hitting the group of weenie kids curled together on the floor in fright.

"Get out of here," he snarled to them. Wise words. They took off running, the blonde girl tugging at the small, frightened red head.

"Rogue, I cannot allow you to hurt anymore people," came Storm's sage-like voice. It was like déjà vu as she whirled in front of me and dissipated a large cloud of electricity in an attempt to stun me. It was powerful, I'll give her that, and it did lock my body into a rigid plank. I fell to my knees with a teeth-clenched growl from the pain. I'm fairly certain she had been holding out on me during my previous nervous breakdowns. My body recovered after a few agonizing seconds and absorbed the electricity just as it did Gambit's. She stopped her flow just as she realized she was powering me up more than harming me.

I smiled and stood up from the ground. I felt her powers running through my body and lifted up into the air to face her. I felt rivers of crackling electricity tickle the top of my body, caressing my skin in the places my uniform hadn't been able to survive.

"Am Ah included in that, Storm? Can ya stop me from hurting myself?" I sneered. It was such a bitter thing to say, selfish. They had made a feeble attempt to help, but ignorance was truly bliss when it came to me.

I generated the electricity she had just stunned me with in a huge ball and whacked it like a tennis ball. She whirled out of the way and the mass flew into the complete opposite side of the Danger Room and buried itself into the wall, crackling to its death.

And thus began the free-for-all. Apparently attacking the mother hen was taboo. I felt Cyclops' red beam of fury hit my back and caused me to drop down. I returned to him a fireball with one hand, courtesy of Magma, and on the other hand, a ball of burning kinetic energy to counteract Gambit's tirade of cards. They both flew out of the way, Gambit with more finesse and grace. On the up-roll he rocketed more of his love cards at me. I borrowed Quicksilver's speed and flicked them up and away with a flash of my hand. They flew to the ceiling, embedded themselves in the steel, and then exploded.

"Impressive, _chere_," he whistled. "But how is y' hand-t'-hand now?" He rushed me and flung his bo-staff in front and whirled it around.

"Just fahne, darlin'," I sneered invitingly, as I blocked each rapid bo-staff attack with an arm. I could barely feel the zing of metal hitting my bones, only the pressure.

And that's what we did for probably 5 seconds normal-mutant time. Hit, block, hit, block, hit, twirl, hit-hit, block. Round-about kick flung him back a few feet, even with him blocking with his staff. He was fast, agile, and flexible. Just like in bed. Blasts of whatever hit my shield and occasionally slipped through and hit me.

And then Logan joined the fight. Finally. If Logan and Gambit were to merge bodies they'd have a fast, powerful killing machine. Not enough to take me out, but enough to make this game fun. Both of them together kept both sides occupied. We flew together so fast, no one else could join in on this _ménage a trois. _I felt Cyclops, Jean, and Storm's powers taking turns at the openings the fight allowed. I laughed manically. It was dangerous for everyone else but me. Any fatal mistake of timing could kill Gambit or Logan, and barely harm me.

I could feel nothing and feel everything. Nothing hurt. A good majority of my uniform singed off and my skin was recovering rapidly from the blows of whatever. Everything that zinged my skin increased the nebulous feeling inside me. I felt full, enraged, omnipotent, and tired. I felt like I had eaten too much (as long ago as that had been) and my body was engorged and the food coma was setting in. And it was uncomfortable. Itchy. It was all-encompasing and uncertain and formless, like a black hole eating me from the inside. Like a vortex had formed inside of my body and was spinning round and round, faster and faster. This and my anger kept building.

And even through my fuzzy rage I felt my mind being sifted through by a ghostly presence and nothing more. I don't care. I don't fucking care. What was there to hide anymore? What could they see now that would surprise them anymore? What could they do? My mind was too powerful to control to contain anymore, a small, cheeky voice whispered into my ear.

Wait…what?

When had this happened?

A split second passed. The only thing I heard was a sharp intake of breath from the observation deck and my own strangled choke, mid-laugh.

Survival's dim automaticity took over. I flung back Wolverine by his adamantium skeleton and threw a strong round-about kick to Gambits chest. My psychic shield took over and absorbed the remaining attacks on me.

"Everybody! Get out of the Danger Room! NOW!" Professor Xavier commanded everyone. He sounded panicked. Urgent. Scared.

Scared for what? Everyone's lives? Scared of me? Was I that close to killing everyone? Did he even care I was killing myself? Did anyone care? Or had I delved too deep into this depression that I couldn't be saved, even by the amazing Charles Xavier?

Was this it?

A heartbeat passed and I knew the horrific implications of my rage and understood the fear in Xavier's voice. I took a sharp intake of breath and his fear was my own, choking me, punching me in the stomach so I could no longer breathe. My mind really WAS out of control. I was out of control. My powers were out of control. I always knew I had been able to use these powers, but to this extent? My powers had exploded to Omega-mutant status sometime while I was thizzing. Absorbing energy like someone had touched me? When did I learn that trick?

And I felt my heart breaking as the cold realization fell upon me. They couldn't stop me like I'd assumed. Like I had hoped. Like I had needed. They couldn't fix me, like last time, when my powers had spun out of control while I was coked up. No one could deal with me, even if they so desperately wanted to, even if I so desperately needed them to. No one could save me, not even me. Tears pricked at my eyes and ran down my face. I held back a sob. None of my teammates or mentors seemed to see this revelation- that I could and probably would kill them. Even if I didn't mean to. They didn't race towards the doors like they should have. They stayed surrounding me, ready for the onslaught. Another sob reached up and choked me. Lashes of power, crackling electricity, firey spews, slipped from my control as the dam holding my emotions and horrific realizations back started leaking. I was cracking, leaking, exploding. I was losing my control, my mind. This was the end.

"Just fucking run!" I cried so desperately at their hesitation and defiance of the professors ruling. "Ya can't deal with me! Ya can't fucking save me!" This anguish felt hot and burning, like I was burning at the stake, the fires gripping my heart with an unrelenting grasp. More lashes of fire, electricity, energy exited the whirlwind surrounding my body and reached out to everything around me.

And this is when I was sucked from the forefront of my mind. I was falling so fast into the dark bleak hole that was once my own mind. I looked around at the slow moving chaos surrounding me. It was like watching a doomsday movie through the television. I could hear metal shredding and crackling with electricity. The ground shook and the lights flickered with a high enough rate to induce seizures. My teammates ran, tripped, and helped each other up and out, watching me with paranoia and panic. Did I want to hurt them? Did I mean to hurt them? When had I intentionally wanted to hurt my family physically? To make them feel my emotional pain physically and kill them like I was killing myself? This wasn't me anymore. This morbid addiction wasn't in my control anymore. I was no longer in the driver seat.

I saw Ororo flying low to the ground, picking up a child-barely-teenager that had been thrown forward and skidded painfully on her way out. She looked like the despairing and forlorn mother, leaving a cherished, inconsolable child for the safety of the others.

I saw Scott pull the limp, unconscious Jean away. He looked like a defeated and reluctant sergent, plainly pained at the idea of leaving his own on the battlefield. Because even he knew it wasn't enough to risk his team to save the undeniably fallen.

I saw Kurt port in next to Kitty, pure anguish in their faces. They knew there was nothing to do except let this happen. Let me go. They watched and hesitated, then ported out.

And I saw Gambit, gazing up at me with such intensity that his eyes were a burning and heart piercing bright blood red, standing with his bow staff keeping him upright and level in the cacophony of turmoil, yelling, begging for me to let him in with his lips and his eyes. I felt his empathy punching and clawing at my mind, trying to get in, trying to calm me down. I couldn't let him in and expose him to the twisted inferno that would instantly burn his mind alive. Remy.

"Just leave, Rems." I heard myself whisper mechanically, my voice cracking. I knew he heard me.

"Get OUT of here, Gambit!" Logan screamed, a child locked in one arm, the other, reaching out to pull Remy as he sprinted towards the doors.

Remy struggled against Logan's ridiculous strength. "Rogue!" He screamed.

"Let her figure this out, Gambit." He ordered. "Don't stop this. She NEEDS this." How I could count on Logan to understand the blinding, blazing rage and fury consuming me. How I could count on him to understand, even though I had stopped trusting him. Him and everyone else. Me.

I had done this to myself, I thought to my dissociated self. I had pushed people away, the people I so desperately needed. But this is what I wanted, right? To finally be truly alone. To finally prove that I was an utterly lost cause.

"MARIE!" Remy screamed.

And everything spilled over the disintegrated dam. My heart exploded, my mind along with it.

I screamed.

* * *

I collapsed onto my knees in the middle of the inverted dome that was formerly the Danger Room. The bomb I let lose was barely contained. The light fixtures were shattered. The only light that shone came from the downed power lines from the ceiling that sparked sporadically and flipped around on the ground, the hallway, and the observation deck. The prized mechanical fixtures originally inside the paneled walls of the room were now visible and completely wrecked. The heavy steel entrance doors that had closed in an attempt to contain the explosion mere milliseconds before I detonated were completely crumpled, partially melted, and nowhere near its original hinges. They hadn't taken the impact well and had flown completely off into the hallway. The viewing windows from the observation deck had shattered completely. Shards of glass lay on the floor and I'm assuming, inside of the observation deck itself. All was silent.

And I began to sob on the obliterated Danger Room floor. Softly, silently. My shoulders shook and my hands ran through my hair and pulled in frustration. Tears rolled down my face.

I've taken so many lines of everything. So many pills. So many joints, so many shots, so many injections. It didn't matter how much sex I was getting, it didn't matter if I was letting the psyches touch other people or if I was, so long as I felt the control- so long as I was in control of my life, my thoughts, my feelings, my freak-outs, my body, my skin, my mind. And after all the months of drugs and abuse and insomnia and paranoia, I thought I had found the perfect concoction to reach this control.

Only, I was never in control. I thought I was, when I was able to fuck someone's brains out, when I could turn my power on and off willingly, when I could use everyone else's powers whenever I needed to. I thought I had finally kept the demons inside my mind at bay. The psyches.

How stupid was I? Thinking that just because I couldn't hear them, they weren't in the background, that they'd just disappeared? No. They hadn't. They realized what I was doing. And didn't object because I was giving them what they wanted. Touch. Power. Control.

But I had been used again. By the demons in my mind, who had given me false control and access to their abilities only because I couldn't hear what they were planning. Because I had drugged myself up so much, I couldn't hear about the revolution they were planning. To take over. To use my body as tupperware for storing powers up until the right moment to explode _and kill_. Why? Who knows. Because that's what they do. Take control of my body, because they're so angry and so tired of being caged up. They wanted a release.

And did I not willingly give that to them, at this moment? At the expense of everyone? At the expense of my mind, my body?

And I had allowed this. Horrible, bitchy, selfish Rogue. Doing all of this shit, the drugs and the alcohol, really ended up hurting everyone. I had pushed everyone away even while hoping they would stay and save me, that they'd keep fighting, that they'd keep watching me destroy myself because I let them. I let me. Hoping they'd never leave me.

But maybe they should.

People were reviving from the explosion finally. I heard groans, hisses of pain, grasping to get upright. I hear the cracking of bones, probably Logan, the steps of people over the debris and metal.

'Rogue?' The Prof's concerned voice echoed weakly in the remnants of my mind. 'Rogue, are you okay?' He sounded so far away.

I thought that over. Physically, I felt…there. Tired. Shakey. I can feel the remnants of my high dwindling away. I can feel the beginning of the crash. Falling, burning, aching, sickness, anxiety, falling, falling, falling. The voices hadn't come yet.

I felt tender. Like I could hurt, but I couldn't but I will. Like it should hurt, but it hasn't hit yet. The horrible consequences of my actions. I felt empty. I felt raw, open, bleeding, and empty. Alone. Undeserving. Guilty. Empty. Wasn't I supposed to feel better? Now that everything was out in the open and they could see what I've been doing to myself? Why do I still feel empty?

"No, I'm not okay." I whispered or thought simply, weakly, drained. I wasn't, and hadn't been, for a long time, and this was the first time I had admitted it to anyone in a very long time.

What had I expected to come of this day, in whatever form it would have taken? Would I have stopped doing the drugs? Fucking everyone? Would my craving for touch, bliss, or attention ever let up? I had had all of those things and it was wonderful. What did I expect would change? That I would feel just as good sober?

Someone climbed over the debris closer to me. Their breathing was a bit labored, their step uneven, and I could smell the smallest amount of blood. I had injured them. Naturally. It was my nature. I shook harder.

"Rogue?" He approached me hesitantly and tried to peer into my covered face. I could bet my worthless life that he was scared I still was unstable and would just blast him back to Louisiana's swampland. I didn't respond with anything more than a heavier sob. He grabbed me unabashedly and yanked me to his chest firmly. He smelt delicious, as always. Manly. Cajun. Stable. Normal. Sober.

He stroked my hair. I could feel his fingertips touch the skin of my scalp; I could feel the smallest pull from the silent entities of my mind and I cock blocked them from taking more. I could feel him probing my emotions, seeing if I'd immediately throw up my shield. I didn't keep a shield up from him. What's the use? I've done all that I could do. My energy was spent. My mind wasn't going to kill his with my violent flood of anger and anguish. He's seen pretty much everything. Everything about me was out in the open.

And I knew what he was doing. Touch amplified his empathic powers. Each touch was meant to more efficiently calm me down, among other things. And I let it.

I heard the soft porting sound of Kurt's arrival. I could only assume that the warm body that had near materialized out of thin air was Kitty too.

How they came back after all this shit, I'll never understand. How someone like me, a walking, talking, fucking A-bomb, still had people around, was amazing. I didn't deserve anyone. And I was the only one to blame.

I felt Kurt squat next to me on his haunches. I felt Kitty take my hand. She squeezed it lightly. I could barely twitch in response.

I felt Remy calm me and bring me down slowly, slowly. I errantly wondered how laborious he was working to fight my nutcase emotions. He quieted the emotions, but even he couldn't fully stop the shakes. They leaped out every other breath or so. I felt like I was falling and falling asleep at the same time. I don't want to feel anxious or nauseated. I don't want to feel anything.

I retreated to the back of my mind, trying to focus on just breathing. On understanding what just happened. On listening to everyone around me finally wake up and tend to their wounds. On trying in vain to quiet the thrumming whispers in my head that were getting louder with every goddamn second.

What was going to happen now? I'm pretty certain I had depleted the psyches' energy storage with that last hoorah. Was this going to be an ongoing cycle? Collect energy until Rogue reaches maximum capacity and then explode in a secret war-room basement while hurting everyone in it? How was I supposed to stop this without going positively insane?

And my body was starting to remind me of this. This slowly-quickly creeping, mounting feeling was a cold reminder why I never had the will to stop. I began to get cold and clammy and shivered and shook.

"We'll get you to the Med Bay soon, we just need to clear the hallway first," a voice said. Kurt, maybe. It was far away. I couldn't focus on what was going on outside of my body. It was like I was being slowly pulled back into my mind. No. I don't want to go back. I growled in my head. I fought against the ghost force in my mind. And it began getting louder. The whispering voices. Demanding my attention. They were finding their voices and volumes again; they were getting louder than I had let them in the last few months and they knew it.

And I knew what was happening. It had been hours since I took anything. My metabolism compounded with Logan's brought things up or down so quickly. It took so much more to keep them quiet and more frequently. It had been way too long since I had anything, and my body and mind were crumbling. Withdrawal. I had to get to my room. I had to find something to take. NOW.

But I couldn't say anything. They stole my ability to reach reality and speak to everyone around me. They were trapping me, slowly dragging me down into my head to devour me and my feeble latch on my worthless life. I struggled, keeping the blackness barely inches away. My breathing hitched and a tremor rolled through my body. I felt my body gasp for air.

"Rogue?" Someone sounded panicked. Someone touched my face, trying to get me to respond.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard my own moan of distress.

"It's the psyches, they're trying to trap her in her own mind." It sounded like Xavier. When did he get close? "They've created several layers of defense. I can't reach her," he sounded deeply troubled and alarmed.

Well yeah, that sounds like those sons of bitches. One of my only potential lifelines and they won't let me reach anyone. Except…

And all the little phantoms of my head looked at me and realized the same thing I did. Remy and Kitty were most definitely still touching me.

'NO!' I screamed. And they inched their long phantom fingers down my arms trying to reach Kitty. I screamed in my head, desperate for anyone to hear me. I clawed and scratched and screamed my way away from their grasping arms and briefly saw through my own eyes and screamed through my own mouth.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" I screamed and gasped and choked noisily. My eyes reeled backwards and my back arched upwards. Gambit kept his firm hold on me while moving his skin away from mine, forcing me down. Kitty jumped back when I phased my hand out of hers. Yeah, it does feel weird, doesn't it Kitty dear?

I felt everything more clearly now that I was firmly in my body's external, cold reality. My body was trembling, clammy and cold. My heart was pounding and galloping without end. My head was being ripped apart by dozens of hands clawing at my mind. My chest was tight and I was hyperventilating. My metabolism had finally kicked in full gear.

"Rogue!" Xavier commanded. Was this in my head now, or out loud?

"She's withdrawalin'," Remy explained grimly. He touched a fingertip to my hand lightly and let a hiss of pain through his teeth. I struggled more as I felt that little bit of him enter the hoard. Was he fucking retarded? "She hasn't had anyt'ing in hours. Her skin is absorbin' and the voices are takin' over. She won't focus on anyt'ing but what she probably has in her room."

He was so right. I felt the pull upstairs. The psyches felt the pull and pushed me towards it. I need something so bad. I couldn't go through this. This was like being spun around a fiery tornado.

"Rogue! You must fight this! You must not give into this craving. The sooner you fight this off, the sooner you can get better." Xavier sounded so hopeful and I had to smile at his attempt at persuasion. Internally, of course.

"Ah can't," I wailed, finding my voice. The pain and nausea was reaching new heights. I was blacking out. Black dots colored my vision and I was seizuring with every breath.

"Don't know what y' got in dat Med Bay o' yours, but whatever it is, she needs it _now_."

And I didn't care what they were planning. All I know, is I had a book on my shelf, carved out and filled with a lighter, a straw, and my special occasion black tar foil. It could be so delicious, so perfect, so healing. _If I could fucking get to it._

"My room," I gasped.

"Rogue, no!" Kitty pleaded.

"Please," I struggled for half a breath. Shit was just flying out of my mouth now. "Ah can't do this. Ah need it. Ah need it now. _Ah can't do this without it_."

"_Chere, _the good doc will give you somet'in'. Y' just need t' be patient. Y'll be fine, y' just need t' wait." He tried to convince me firmly and latched on even tighter.

If only they could realize that after this hit I could even begin to think about getting better. If the psyches were listening to me, I'd get up and get there myself. Pound through the barricade I had stupidly created for myself, melting the doors into the walls so no one could get out. Fucking stupid me. Phase through the floors…

Port to my room.

I evened out my breathing the best I could. I gathered my strength. I gritted my teeth and tried to clear my eyesight.

And I looked Kurt square in the eyes. He was so close. Not even an arm's length away and still weak from earlier. Would he forgive me for this eventually? Would he understand the dire nature of this later? How my mind was close to closing in on itself and imploding?

And tears streamed down my face. There was no other way. "Ah'm sorry," I choked out, as I brushed a finger down his haunches and disappeared.

* * *

And the world is so much brighter now.

Lucid.

Blinding.

Silent.

Horrifying.

I ignore the sounds of pounding on the doors. I hear them all so vaguely in my horrific bliss. They can't get in. I won't let them.

I'm down for the count on my bedroom floor, the shards of glass from my earlier outburst digging into my skin as I flip around on the ground in orgasmic ecstasy. The foil and lighter fall out of my relaxed hands, both horribly used and abused.

The voices are gone. They've quieted down to a muted whisper in the back of my head. I flex my hands. I still feel the remnants of power from Kurt's sacrifice. It feels tingly good, or maybe that's the heroin still. Either way, yum.

I feel numb and tingly. Like your mouth feels after you get a cavity filled. You touch yourself but it feels unreal, like you're touching someone else, but at the same time there's such an acute tingling that it makes you giggle. I'm giggling. Hard.

Lordy lord, does it feel so good to fly like this! Every muscle movement brings on a new wave of prickles and it just takes my breath away. I'm floating higher and higher on each exhale and if this doesn't stop, I may just reach heaven sometime today.

And I can _feel_ it. The pulsating ball of light that's always just barely in my grasp whenever I'm this far gone. God, I want it so bad. I can feel the warm, intoxicating glow of it and I'm so _damn peaceful, so goddamn happy_ just to be in its presence. I plead with it to let me bond forever with it.

And in the back of my mind, I know what it is. I'd be a fool among fools _not_ to know. Its horribly inviting sheen is just too good for this world, that's why it's of a different place. It's the light at the end of the tunnel. It's that point of overdosing and dying. It's the point that I've reached so many times yet can never obtain it because of Logan's healing factor and the high metabolism I've seemed to gain from Remy's constant presence. Either way, _I want it._

I'm begging my body to go higher and higher. Let me finally greet this wonderful feeling of happiness and _freedom._ I'm so close; I can taste the cloying numbness and happiness. My fingers are almost there. I'm almost touching it, caressing its velvety light. I can't remember anything else but this light and its protection from the horrible world I've lived in.

And just as I'm about to grasp the light, I fall. And I'm falling hard and fast. Down, down, down. The light gets farther and farther away. It's so cold now as I grasp the air, trying to hold on to the disappearing warmth. Not again. _Not fucking again._ I was so close. I'm falling as the world turns round and round, laughing at my stupidity.

Cold realization slaps me as I fall. My heart is shattering into a million pieces.

All of my memories flood back to me as I plummet towards sobriety, everything and everyone that I've done. It's a bleak, dim memory, like I was watching through a thick, dark veil. Everything was blurred and so _sad._ I felt a choking sob escape. Everything is so frighteningly _clear_.

I couldn't live like this anymore. I couldn't live like I had even before the drugs. In my briefest moments of flying so high I could reach the sky, I've tasted bliss and freedom. I've tasted everything good in the world in that every time I come back down, I can't find it again. Nothing will be as good as that. How can I possibly live now? Knowing that no more drugs or sex or _anything_ could satisfy me? That even if I did find something as magical and wonderful as that final feeling, it would never be enough to last me the rest of my goddamned life?

I'm sobbing and screaming now. There was nothing for me on this planet that could save me. I know now that I'm too far gone to fix. I had tasted the forbidden fruit and cast myself out of Eden. I couldn't possibly go back to the time of not being able to touch and not being able to feel temporarily happy with my druggie antics. I couldn't go back to everyone being blissfully unaware of my transgressions; I would never be looked upon as a teammate, a daughter, a friend, or a lover. I would be forever seen as the broken, pity-party drug addict.

And _God_, if there ever was a last wish, I wish I could clearly remember and relive the days before I truly let myself go. The days before I was horribly fucked up, the days before I was so very sad. Those simple days, when the little girl with the curly two toned hair danced and sang so freely and contentedly in the southern swampland forests with the butterflies, the days so long before she holds my hands and cries as I fall so hard and fast.

I watch her pull at me, trying to get me up from my broken, useless state. My smile quivers weakly at her, the tears pouring down from my face. I can vaguely remember my one wish for her I had cast long ago, that one day she would get the love and attention she deserved, that she would never turn out like me.

I hold her close to me, trying to memorize her innocent, childishly cherubic face. I pass my fingers through her soft little curls and wipe the tears from her face.

And I saw the answers in her eyes, falling out with her tears like autumn leaves on a dying winter tree. My little doppleganger had seen everything that I had been so forcibly ignoring. I saw the yearning looks of my closest friends, Kitty and Kurt, the unshed tears of their sorrow for me. I saw the helpless look of my mentors, of Logan, who had tried so hard to stop me from going down the same lost path he had trekked. And I saw the blatant love pour out from Remy's mouth time and time again, with each time his growlingly desperate pleas trying to save me from myself in some form or another.

And just when I thought I'd burst from my own sorrow and pain, I saw a glimpse of what my life could have been. What _her_ life could have been. Had I not been addicted to everything else, the drugs, the touches, the attention of everyone but the ones I truly loved… had I paid attention to the_ real_ love and affection of everyone around me, I could have been saved. Had I not been addicted to being alone in my own fantasy world, I could have been addicted to life and the love of my family. I could have had both. She could have had everything.

"Ah'm sorry," I whispered, knowing full well I had let her down. She just nodded and cried. Even she knew there was no way to come back from this horrible black hole I had conjured up. Even if I had the will to live anymore, the long road emotional and physical road down to sobriety was almost a straight drop I was positive I couldn't make alive.

She just watched me in sorrow as I picked up a long mirror shard that had been poking me in the side. She cringed and sobbed harder as I traced it down my arms, finding the river and traveling down it hard. She threw the shard away and held my hand. The tears fell so noiselessly from my eyes as I tried smiling a true smile for her. She collapsed on me and hugged me hard. I wrapped my bloody arms around her and tried to soothe her.

I can feel Logan itching through my foggy mind, trying to heal the dull rips in my skin. It isn't his place anymore, really. I wonder idly how long I can keep him at bay, how I can keep my teammates out of my room, before I drown myself in this salty, crimson river.

My breathing becomes leisurely and Little Marie's sobs grew quiet. She began singing her little song again. I hum along with her. Gosh, she was so wonderfully warm. I close my eyes, relaxed and ready to let her lull me into peaceful sleep. I follow her fading childish song as I fly higher and faster to the warm light, wishing her the best that I could never give her. I hear my name being called over and over again and hope it's the angels of heaven saving little Marie from this horrible hellhole.

* * *

**Authors Note:** Oh hello there! So yeah… It's been a while… Don't hate me! It was a weeeee bit longer than a month… but better late than never, ehy? Lets see! I'd like to thank all my reviewers for sticking it out with me and STILL doing reviews 3 freaking years later! I still get author alerts and story alerts in my inbox and it makes me so happy. =) I would love more reviews, but considering the tardiness of this chapter, I probably don't deserve them… But please please please review me! I'm wondering if my writing style has matured at all since I've been in college and it would give me warm fuzzies and more inspiration to write if you all reviewed me! 3

Anywho! If this seems a bit rushed and raw, it is for 2 reasons: one, it's really hard to get out so many emotions and themes and have the really tie together and two, this is supposed to portray Rogue as confused and desperate and trying to figure everything out as she commits suicide.

But yeah…this is the last chapter and I know some of you are ready to tar and feather me because, well, did Rogue really commit suicide? That is for you to individually ponder on. It's purposefully open ended. Was Marie saved because of Rogue's sacrifice? Was Marie a drug induced hallucination or an actual fragment of Rogue's mind? Who were the angels calling for her and taking her up faster to heaven? Was heaven death or a new beginning at the Institute?

Ponder on that! I hope you all enjoyed the ride and I hope that some of you got even a wee bit emotional too. I did, and I wrote the damn chapter. I may go back and rework some of it, but chances are it won't be in the near future. This is the absolute last chapter. I don't think a sequel should be done in any case.

On a more promotional and exciting note, I'm re-writing (and hopefully finishing) Tormented Sanity, EXCEPT , it will probably be under a different name, so look for that hopefully in the next 10 years. (Joking! I have a whole crap load done, I just need time to reread it!). Lastly, I'm working on another series, soon to be posted as "The Love-Hate Chronicles". This of course, will be a Romy too. =)


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